


Or the Tiger

by Germindis, idontevenknowugh



Category: Underfell - Fandom, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Underfell, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Forced Prostitution, Horror, Mind Rape, Other, Psychological Horror, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Underfell Sans, meant to be read by absolute monstrous garbage only
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9300749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Germindis/pseuds/Germindis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/idontevenknowugh/pseuds/idontevenknowugh
Summary: Underfell universe. Sans is a prostitute working for Muffet at a brothel in New Home they call Red City.Deep in the complex, behind a door Sans has never opened before, waits something that will force him to learn more about himself than he ever wanted to know.This story branches off of the Red City series, but you can start here without having read any of it. Sans sometimes has a good time, Sans often has a bad time, and Sans most definitely has an ugly time.





	1. Prologue: Give me the news, I got a bad case

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're here and haven't read Red City—no worries! It's meant to be self-contained. If you want to know the details of exactly *why* Sans is a prostitute, though, you may want to read the series. It's horrible, just like this will be. Please stay safe and don't read material you think would be damaging to you. Stop any time with no consequence but a cleaner conscience.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Rape, forced prostitution, size difference, pain during sex.
> 
> Flavor of the day: cheesy roleplay + Sans in a kinky nurse outfit

Sans hesitated in front of the door that would lead him to tonight’s client. This wasn’t the most outlandish thing he’d been told to do, but he couldn’t quite get comfortable in the getup the customer had requested for Sans to wear. He tugged at the tight skirt, getting it smoothed out at the bottom. He glanced down at the script still in his hands.

> _Nurse walks up and sits on the desk, one leg stretched out, skirt riding up._

So the discomfort from the clothes was part of the script itself. At least that much was going according to plan so far. The script had been sent ahead of time along with specifications for the clothes—the writing screamed of a homemade effort. It looked like particulars were important to this customer. Sans hadn’t managed to memorize the thing, but hopefully that wouldn’t matter.

Sans opened the door and shuffled in. It was only his second time in high heels, and he didn’t trust himself not to trip.

The client had moved the furniture around to, presumably, simulate an office. He was seated behind a table, head down, staring at the blank table top, but kept glancing up at Sans. The bear monster had squeezed his bulky frame into a lab coat that looked about ready to burst at the shoulders. A blue and yellow striped tie hung awkwardly from his neck, draping onto the table below.

Sans looked down at the script.

“Doctor, I apologize for disturbing you...uh…” That was probably too mechanical. He put a little more oomph into the next line, stretching to place one hand up on the edge of the door frame and pushing his hips out to the side, one heeled shoe crossed in front of the other. “...but I have something here that only _you_ can treat.”

The client looked up eagerly, then back down at a paper to his right. He stared at it for a moment, frowning, before suddenly turning his body in the chair, then whipping his head back towards Sans as he seated himself properly.

“That’s alright. It’s what I’m here for.” He replied.

Sans stared at him, eyes glancing at his own script.

> _Doctor turns, dramatically._

…apparently that had been very important to him.

Sans coughed into his hand, then tried for the swinging walk Muffet had taught him in these shoes. It did seem to help him keep balance. When he got to the desk, though, the image had to have been tarnished, at least a bit, by the way he had to heave himself up onto it. He attempted to smooth the end of the action over into a nice pose with one leg stretching to the side.

The skirt rolled up his hips, and he had to catch himself from straightening it.

“What, um, what seems to be the problem?” The monster asked, eyeing the exposed bone. Sans couldn’t help but smile a little in relief. The client didn’t seem to mind some hiccups. He was still here for one thing, and that was something Sans was getting reasonably good at.

If he didn’t say so himself.

“Well, you see doctor...I’ve been having trouble...concentrating. It’s interfering with my work.” Sans deviated from the script slightly, tilting his hips up so the skirt rode up further. He put a hand on the edge of the desk, right across from the client’s abdomen. Sans leaned his face toward him.

“You have to help me…”

The client was watching him intently, and seemed to forget his line, as there were several long moments of silence before he startled, looking over at his script.

“I don’t,” he cleared his throat, “I don’t see anything wrong. What is it that’s distracting you so?”

The script indicated Sans was supposed to put his foot on the chair, but he realized too late he was too short to swing it over. He scooted himself to the edge of the desk instead, barely reaching the chair’s arm with the pointed heel of his shoe. Whatever, the client’s eyes had gone straight between his legs anyway. Sans’s summoned pussy was glowing through the silk panties he’d been given to wear.

Sans clenched a hand over his chest.

“You, doctor!” He leaned back, balancing with his hands braced on the desk behind him and spreading his legs out, losing any subtlety. “All I can think about is how it would be to be with you.” Sans raised his hips from the table slightly. “Please…”

The bear didn’t answer, leaning down towards Sans’s pelvis slowly, until there were three sharp snaps, like thread breaking. Flustered, he leaned back, smoothing his lab coat. It didn’t work, the fabric flaring to either side of his belly.

“We can’t!” He yelled, over enthusiastically. “It wouldn’t be professional. How would we ever work together again?”

Sans crawled onto his hands and knees on the desk, reaching out to grab the bear’s tie.

“Please, I’m begging you!”

He pressed his mouth up against the client’s, giving a little tongue for effect. The details never hurt. The bear kissed him back, not hesitating to shove his tongue in Sans’s mouth. He kept at it for a while before breaking the kiss and sitting back in his chair.

“This isn’t right…” He said absently, adjusting his pants.

Sans swung his legs over the edge of the desk and slid himself into the bear’s lap. He felt a long, hard erection greet him from under his skirt. He looked up into the client’s face, reaching up to place his hands on his shoulders, but only reaching his chest.

“Then why does it feel so right?”

“Nurse…,” the client breathed, grinding his hips up, “Seems, uh, serious. Should do it, immediately…”  

That was the last spoken line of the script….with some improvisation. The ending line merely instructed: _Doctor and Nurse have sex._

Sans obligingly rubbed his cunt against the erection through the clothes, feeling wetness soak through the fabric. The whole thing was corny, but hell, a little pretense did make things kind of hot.

There was a rumble from the bear, and then he stood, bringing Sans with him and depositing him on the desk. He pulled Sans’s hips towards him, grinding against him hard through his pants. Sans didn’t have to fake the noises that got out of him. What was it about big monsters?

“Ah...mm...doctor!”

“Nurse…,” the client growled, ripping the panties right off him. There was the sound of a zipper, and then something large was probing at his pussy. A shiver ran up Sans’s spine. This still felt good, but there was a real chance it was about to get...difficult.

He opened his mouth and then closed it again, gulping. Asking to go slow wasn’t something you did. That was up to the client. He spread his legs wider, trying not to look nervous. The cock was rubbed against him a few times before slowly starting to press in.

Sans held still and breathed in and out steadily, his head tilting back. It was going in, it felt good, this was good…

He was being good.

The bear grunted as he filled Sans further, pausing occasionally to readjust his grip on Sans’s pelvis. Sans moaned softly with each push. Pretty soon this would be the widest he’d been stretched, so far as he knew.

“Tight…” the bear huffed, jerking his hips forward to force his cock deeper. Sans’s hips jolted.

“Ah-h!”

That could probably be taken for a scream of pleasure. Sans swiped a hand over his already sweaty forehead, looking up at the client through hazy eyes.

“Been...hh...saving...for you…”

“Mmm...nurse…,” The bear groaned, shoving the last of his dick into Sans. “I’ll give you what you need…”

Sans was already running out of energy to move his body in response, but he probably didn’t need to worry about that at this point. He just did his best to relax, his hips shaking hard in the bear’s grip as they accommodated the huge length.

“Ha…,” the bear groaned, slipping out of Sans. He paused for a moment before thrusting back in, all the way.

“Guh!” Sans went stiff, and he had to breathe for a moment to relax his body again. He’d get used to it. Just a few more, and he’d be up to it. The client leaned over him, moving faster as he continued to thrust. The noises coming out of Sans’s throat were starting to change, and he allowed himself to go up in volume.

“Ah...ohh...ohhh….”

It was getting easier again. The running monologue of self-assurance and next steps going in Sans’s head was dropping away into pure feeling and reaction as the thrusts hit him in just the right spot. He still couldn’t get his limbs to move anymore, but at least he could let himself keep moaning under the monster while he worked.

The bear seated himself fully before leaning back, effortlessly bringing Sans with him and sitting back down in the chair.

“Why not try some light exercise….nurse.”

The steadying breath Sans meant to take in was more of a gasp. He laughed nervously, then slowly felt around with his arms to try to find purchase. There was nowhere at a good enough angle to help him lift himself up—his arms were just too short, and when he tried to bend in half to a lower position, pain shot through his midsection in protest.

“Ungh…”

He gave a shot at bouncing himself up and down with just the strength of his hips, but it barely wiggled him on the wide girth inside. He looked up at the bear’s face and laughed a little again, starting to get anxious.

The monster’s brow drew down in obviously mock concern.

“Has my…manhood rendered you weak?”

He thrust up, jostling Sans.

“AH!”

Sans gripped the rumpled lab coat, pressing his face into the bear’s chest and panting. He didn’t need to exaggerate the trembling of his hands.

“Really...weak...doctor....”

“It's understandable,” he lifted Sans like he was nothing, “I’m happy to…assist.”

At the word, he released Sans, letting gravity pull him back down.

This time, Sans’s scream could probably not be reasonably taken for a good sound.

He couldn’t help it—the new position hurt a lot. He breathed hard, pushing his face in more against the monster’s chest and trying to quickly rub away a few tears of pain.

The bear didn't waste a moment, lifting him back up, and this time meeting his descent with a thrust of his hips. Sans couldn’t manage to get his reactionary noises to sound pleasured.

“Ahhh...augh…”

Sans’s hands flailed around on the monster’s chest before gripping him again. He just needed to... _bear_ with this a little longer.

...heh.

Another lift up, another drop down.

Don’t ask him to stop.

Another hard thrust that burned all the way.

Just don’t ask him to stop.

Only a few more merciless drops in, Sans could no longer wipe away the mess he’d made of his face from crying.

The bear didn't seem to care, holding Sans’s pelvis so he was basically masturbating into him. He moved Sans faster and faster, thrusting up into him with a grunt each time.

Pretty soon, if Sans didn’t say anything, he was going to pass out. He fumbled his hands on the other monster again. He lost grip whenever he was pulled up, not strong enough to hang on.

“Uk...could you…” He tried to keep the alarm in his voice to a minimum. “...go easier? I’m…”

“Overwhelmed...of course….” The bear stopped, pulling Sans off of him, and placing him on the desk again.

“Lay on your stom...your...front…”

Sans turned over slowly, his arms weak. Everything felt sore. The other monster thrust back into him, slower, but still in one long stroke.

Sans watched his own hands scraping on the desk in front of him as he realized his mistake. He’d drawn this out. He was already hurt, that wasn’t going away, and now it was going to take even longer. He breathed out shakily as the cock hilted in him again, then he made himself bounce his hips up behind him, ignoring the pain as best he could.

“Doc...tor...please cum in me, I need it…”

“Fuck...nurse…,” the bear gripped Sans’s shoulders, holding him in place as he fucked him, movements growing more and more desperate. Sans didn’t bother holding back yelps and screams, because it didn’t seem to be ruining the monster’s good time at all.

The client kept going, his own grunts joining Sans’s pained cries. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for him to shorten his thrusts, staying mostly inside Sans.

“Here...comes...final….treatment…,” he moaned, beginning to release inside Sans.

“Oh-! Doctor, I’m—coming!” Sans lied.  

The bear didn’t reply, thrusting shallowly a few times before pulling out. He sat down, breathing heavily.

“That should...help, nurse. You may...go.”

Sans pushed himself off the desk, gingerly getting onto his feet. He wobbled. He kicked the shoes off and limped to the door, then looked over his shoulder.

“Thank you, doctor.” He winked at the client.

That should be fine. That should be enough. He said he could go. Sans turned back to the door and waited.

Please please please.

There was a click from the locking mechanism as it released. The session was officially over.

Sans opened the door slowly, but didn’t look behind him. When he was around the door and out of sight, he shot out.

He stopped a ways down a hallway, panting, and slid back against the wall. His legs were burning, his cunt was burning, and it refused to dispel, too sore and in need of tender attention to give up form.

Sans fell into a sit and took the nurse’s hat off, stuffing it into his mouth and weeping into it as quietly as he could. He bunched his knees up against his chest.

After a good bit of time, and thankfully no passers by, he got himself up and going back to his room to collapse.

Not the worst night. He got into bed to rest up for the next.

 

 

Sans woke to his employer’s face hovering over him. Still only half awake, he automatically spread his legs open and formed a pussy. Muffet rolled her eyes and scoffed, pulling him off the bed by the collar of his ratty old t-shirt that had long been relegated to sleep wear only. There was a dress code here when he was outside his room, and nothing from Sans’s previous life made the cut.

Arms crossed, Muffet waited for him to dress himself, not bothering to look away or offer him even the semblance of privacy. Modesty over his body, along with any sense of control of how it was displayed, had to be given up some time following the sacrifice of the t-shirt as day wear.

Anyway, with the camera watching them both from the upper corner, it wasn't like Muffet turning her back would be a meaningful gesture. She could sell the tapes as far as Sans knew.

He made a point never to ask.

He'd learned not to ask a lot of things. Like why Muffet was dragging him out of his room in the middle of the night, or why she looked so pissed. Why she had scratches all up one of her arms. He _definitely_ didn't want to ask that.

Whatever was happening, if experience told Sans anything, this would somehow lead to him being forced into some very frightening sex.

Better to just go along with what Muffet wanted and make his best guesses in the meantime. He was getting all right at rolling with the punches, at least.

They entered a part of the Red City complex Sans had never seen before. That wasn't unusual—the brothel was sprawling. But Sans couldn't figure why Muffet would take him somewhere so far from the private rooms. Did a client have a special request, something that couldn't be accommodated elsewhere?

When they stopped in front of a door, Sans swallowed, his imagination running wild. Muffet finally spoke, and before the sentence came out of her mouth, there was no way Sans could have known there was anything Muffet could still say that would shock him.

“There's something I want you to explain to me, Sans.”

She opened the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the thing!!
> 
> what the hell is going on


	2. The Tiger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's behind door number 1?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the [theme song](https://youtu.be/JZzf_wGQAac?list=PLW0d1YesPHgfn3SlsPDRkr1z1hmt2IMcM) for the fic. I hope you enjoy the strange.

 

Sans couldn’t begin to know what to expect, but whatever it was, the sight that met him when Muffet opened the door was not it.

There were two monsters in the room, both of them fitted with metal collars around their necks, but other than that, they were dressed in the same formal wear as all the other workers. They were kneeling, hands bound behind their backs with rope that was knotted to hooks in the floor. None of that was the strange part—not in Red City.

The strange part was the _type_ of monster they were. Sans had met only two other skeletons in his whole life, and one of them, his father, was dead now. Against all reason, two more skeletons were here, in this room, deep in the underground of the Underground, in a brothel. It wasn’t the kind of place Sans expected to meet long-lost relatives.

They certainly looked related.

No, they looked like...they looked like copies. Of Sans.

One was a mass of scars and cracks, the most glaring of all one that went down the right side of his skull, even splitting the socket. Other than that, the monster shared a likeness with Sans down to the one fake gold tooth.

The other monster had Sans’s undamaged, smooth bones, but unlike Sans, he had strangely flat teeth. Together, the two might have made an odd sort of composite of Sans’s image. The second one struck Sans as especially eerie, though. It was the only monster Sans had ever seen who didn’t have red eyes. The monster’s soft white eyelights were staring down at the floor.

Sans’s breathing started speeding up. He took a step back, but didn’t dare run out of the room.

There weren’t that many monsters that could shapeshift in the Underground, were there? And what were the chances Muffet would pull an elaborate charade like this just to get Sans to fuck himself for some client? Oddly inaccurate versions of himself? The lead up to this had been too strange to be fake.

Right?

“Muffet, what’s...w-what are you doing. What is this?”

Muffet put her hands on Sans’s shoulders, and he jumped.

“That’s what I’m asking you, dear. Care to tell me who these two are?”

“Have you asked them?”

Muffet’s tinkling laughter echoed eerily in the quiet room. She gestured to the two skeletons.

“Go on, dearies. Tell him the story you told me.”

“Happily,” the scarred one said, tone bland, “if you would just, ya know, leave.” He shot Muffet a dark glare.

Muffet’s grip on Sans’s shoulders tightened incrementally, making him wince.

“How very rude you are.” She still had laughter in her voice, but it wasn’t in her eyes. “I’m not going to leave you three alone with each other until I have an idea of what’s going on here.”

The mottled skeleton shifted in his bindings, a mocking grin breaking out across his skull. “If you insist. How’s your grasp of quantum mechanics?” The other monster flinched and turned to him, still not looking up from the ground.

“Don’t,” he whispered, starting to shake. That made the grin drop, and the talkative one turned to look at his friend. A long, tense moment passed before he sagged, sighing.

“Fine,” he looked back up at Sans and Muffet. “We’re just passing through. Don’t know how we ended up here, but this is a shit way to treat guests.”  

Muffet opened her mouth to speak, but Sans was already blurting out the words.

“They’re me.”

Both of the monsters startled and looked up at him, clearly shocked.

Muffet looked at Sans like she was waiting for more of an explanation than that, but he felt like he didn’t have enough of an explanation even for himself. However, the fact that they looked just like him, that he and Papyrus were the only skeleton monsters he actually knew of, that one of them had mentioned quantum mechanics as a reason for them being here...

Thanks to his connections with the Underground’s labs, Sans knew that time had been stuck in a loop for years. Even though he couldn’t remember them, he knew there were things that happened to him that no longer were—events that had been erased. That's where deja vu came from. But was it possible that they hadn't actually been erased...just written over?

Had these other hims, maybe from a past gone in a different direction entirely, just...persisted in their existence somehow, after time reloaded and Sans, as he knew himself now, came to be?

Muffet finally broke the silence, seeing that Sans wasn’t going to elaborate on his own.

“What do you mean, dear?”

Sans didn’t particularly want to tell Muffet about time resetting. He didn’t know if she could, but if she found a way to use the knowledge to her advantage, he shuddered to think what could happen. He’d spoken before thinking about the consequences.

Fortunately, whatever the truth was exactly, it wasn’t going to be anyone’s first guess.

“I mean...they look just like me, right? That’s why you thought I’d know. That’s why you...that’s why you brought me here? Not to…”

At that, Muffet gave a genuine laugh and rubbed Sans’s back. He watched the monsters, and saw that the mouthy one was taking in every movement with a sharp look. The other had gone back to pretending like none of them existed.

“This isn’t a scene, Sans. I want to know who they are. I didn’t bring you here to have sex with them.”

That got a reaction. White eyelights snapped back up to them, shaking and scared. There was a snarl from the other one.

“What the fuck does that mean?” The scarred one asked, voice not completely steady. “Why...why would you assume that?” He had locked his gaze on Sans. For all the bravado he was throwing up, the mention of sex clearly had shaken him too. He had gone from anger to fear in the space of a soul beat.

Sans didn’t have an immediate answer forthcoming, but unfortunately, Muffet did. She shook his shoulders a bit, like she was introducing a shy nephew.

“That’s his job, dears.”

The reaction was instantaneous. The white-eyed skeleton curled in on himself and Sans saw a few tears splatter on the ground. His friend tried to lean towards him, but he looked like he might be sick.

“‘S alright, Ke— just breathe,” His own breathing was growing labored as he looked between Muffet, Sans, and the room they were in. “It’ll be...alright.”

Sans felt a sickness coil in the bottom of his soul. Their reaction made him feel like a predator. He wanted to back out of the room, to back out of Red City, to somehow exit the planet and be as far from the two other skeletons as possible. He felt like he was looking in a warped funhouse mirror, seeing what he looked like from the point of view of his clients.

That not only made him feel ashamed for the pitiful display the other hims were putting on...it put _him_ in the place of...that meant that here, _he_ was the…

Sans took another stumbling step back, falling into Muffet’s arms. He twisted around and tried to struggle away.

“Let me leave. Let me out of here. P-please. I don’t know anything about them, that’s the truth, I’m not lying, please Muffet, _please let me out I wanna leave_ -”

Muffet held a firm grip on him, making shushing noises. There was a rattle behind him as someone pulled on their bindings.

“You…you do…it’s your _job_? Fuck, that’s...fucked up...how...” Another tug at the bindings. “This isn’t right...gotta get outta here and…back...or...”

It had been a while since Sans had felt this deeply shamed about his job. Most of the monsters that surrounded him every day didn’t treat it like it was unusual. Not even his clients. The mocking tones they used when they called him a whore had gotten to take on an almost friendly familiarity. Any retort Sans could have made, about how it wasn’t _that_ fucked up, about how the two weren’t getting ‘back’ anywhere if they were already here, died in his throat at the sight of them. It was like he was looking back at himself from the beginning, and the earlier versions of him didn’t have anything good to say about how low he’d sunk.

Muffet filled the silence again.

“It’s a perfectly respectable job. And seeing as your test results all came back negative, it looks like it will be safe for you to join him.”

“What…?” The scarred monster asked in a hoarse whisper. “N-no, we can’t. You can’t…” The skeleton next to him was shaking so hard he was rattling, and the occasional sob could be heard between the other’s words.

Muffet let go of Sans, and Sans stayed frozen where he was as she tapped over toward the restrained monsters on her tiny feet.

“Two skeletons just appear on my doorstep naked, in chains and collars like some kind of pre-made sex pets, and you expect me not to accept a gift from the universe like that? Oh no, I’m sure you’ll be quite a draw.”

She put a hand under the white-eyed monster’s chin and lifted it.

“And you don’t have anywhere to go, do you?”

He was crying, the tears dripping down his skull and to either side of her hand. “P-p-pl-”

With a sickening snap the other one threw himself at Muffet, gnashing his teeth. It looked like he’d managed to dislocate his shoulder in his bonds. Muffet turned to look at him without changing expression, one hand absently stroking the face of the monster in front of her as she watched the other one thrash ineffectively.

“Don’t touch ‘im!”

Muffet didn’t respond. She turned back to the white-eyed monster, framing his face with four of her hands. He tried to pull away with a whimper, but she held him still.

“Shh, there now, dear, it’s not so bad. You’ll see. Sans here was nervous at first, but he’s done just fine.”

At that, his friend stopped thrashing to look at Sans again, and Sans had never wished more for invisibility. He didn’t want to be a part of this. He didn’t want to say anything. His eyes went to the door again, but he stayed silent.

“Why,” the scarred monster asked. “Why do you do this?”

Sans didn’t have an answer for that. He went on autopilot.

“It’s my job.” He didn’t bother to put any emotion into the statement, and none came.

Red eyes flickered between him and Muffet. The monster gave Sans a long, hard look before he slumped into a defeated posture.

“Fine. I’ll do it, but you have to leave him out of it.”

Muffet rested her cheek on the crown of the white-eyed monster’s head, looking back at the other.

“You’re not in a position to negotiate anything. You both have a job to do.”

She gave the monster in her arms one last fond stroke, as if he were an animal, and walked back to the doorway, to where Sans was standing stock still. She put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m going to have them taken to Onion to start training. Be a dear and ease their minds a bit for me?”

With that, she left, closing the door behind. Sans stayed staring at the closed door, not ready to face the other versions of himself, but already certain—with a feeling of cosmic inevitability—what he was going to say to them.

 

\----------

 

The native Sans still had his back to them, looking after where the spider woman had exited. Sans looked over at Ketchup to find him slumped over, staring at the ground.

“Ketch,” He called softly, but there was no reply.

He turned his attention back to the native Sans. This Sans looked more like him than Ketchup did, but like Ketchup, had no scars to match his sharp teeth and glowing red eyes. It was as though he hadn’t earned his harsh appearance. He was wearing the same style of dress clothes that Sans and Ketchup had been put in while unconscious, but he looked more used to them than they were.

“Can you do something about the ropes, at least? I should check on him.”

The Sans turned his head, but not his body.

“Check on him?”

Sans nodded and gave him an odd look. “Ketch- he’s panicking.” He tugged on the rope again, wincing as pain shot through his left arm. “Help a Sans out.”

The other Sans made no expression, turning back to the door.

“He’ll get over it. I did.”

Sans opened his mouth to retort, but what could he even say? He still didn't understand what was going on with this version of them. Would he even care what Ketchup had been through? He was a whore for fuck’s sake. The freak was just as likely to shrug off what had been done to them as just another day on the job.

“Well good for you,” he sneered. “I guess not all of us have pride.”

The Sans’s shoulders stiffened. He turned around, wearing a smile that was a shade or two off.

“Heh. I guess not.”

He walked straight to Ketchup, getting on his knees in front of him. He bent down and felt for a pulse of magic under Ketchup’s neck. Sans tensed, what was he doing now?

“Is he really...the same as us?”

He didn’t look up, but he must have been talking to Sans still.

“Of course,” Sans watched his movements warily, “he looks just like us, right?”

The native Sans gave a short bark of a laugh.

“Too bad for him, huh?”

He waved a hand in front of Ketchup’s eyes.

“Anybody home?”

Sans watched as Ketchup slowly looked up. His eyelights looked dim, but he seemed alert as he took in the monster in front of him. Sans had no idea how much of that conversation Ketchup had actually taken in. Part of him hoped his counterpart had been spared the native Sans’s cold statement, but if he hadn’t, then Sans was probably going to have to be the bearer. As of now, he had no idea how to get them out of this mess. Even if he did, he somehow doubted there was a working machine here.

“Ketch?” He tried, and Ketchup’s skull tipped towards him slightly.

“What...what do we do?” Ketchup asked, voice shaking.

The native Sans seemed to be attempting a grin at Ketchup, but it still looked wrong.

“Hey, uh...buddy. Welcome back.” He paused. “...you’re not hurt, are you?”

Ketchup looked back at the native Sans. “No, not really. My legs are going numb…I guess.”

The Sans took a look at Ketchup’s legs.

“Jus’ been sitting on them too long.”

He got up and moved toward Sans, hanging back more than he had in front of Ketchup. He rocked on his feet.

“I’m, uh. Gonna set your arm back in its socket. You’re not gonna scratch me up like you did Muffet, are you?”

Sans considered the other. He actually did seem kind of nervous, which made Sans smile a bit. While the native Sans was cold to their plight, maybe he could leverage that. Even if it didn’t lead to anything, it would make him happy to make the other squirm.

“Naw,” he gave him a sharp grin.

The Sans eyed him doubtfully, then walked back toward Ketchup, ignoring Sans.

“You okay with, uh…?”

He gestured to the ropes, indicating he would untie them.

Sans was surprised by the offer, and stared as Ketchup nodded hesitantly. He felt anxious as the native Sans approached his counterpart, despite the fact that he couldn’t actually see how this could be a trap. His poor imagination hadn’t ever stopped anything else from turning to shit, had it?

The native Sans got the ropes off, and even massaged Ketchup’s arms a bit. He touched the cuffs briefly, but seemed to ignore them. He didn’t quite make eye contact as he spoke again.

“So, looks like you two are about to go on a little trip.”

“Oh?” Sans asked, “getting out of this shithole sounds nice.” He tried to look relaxed as he watched Ketchup slowly stretch and stand. He knew full well that Ketchup wasn’t going to do anything. Sans would be mad if the weaker monster tried, really. Nonetheless, his bones had been humming since the rope came away from his counterpart’s wrists.

The native Sans turned to look at him. He looked him up and down, eyes stopping at his wrists, where he had the same cuffs as Ketchup.

“I don’t want to know details. Just a yes or no. Do you really not know how you got here?”

“Depends on what ya mean by ‘here’.” Sans replied. “Have a pretty good idea how we landed in this timeline, but zero clue how we ended up at your ‘glorious’ establishment.”

The native Sans slapped a hand to his own forehead.

“You fuckin’ moron. You don’t know what ‘yes or no’ means?”

He nodded to a red light in the upper corner of the room.

“Lesson one of Red City: congrats, Muffet just heard what you said. Hi Muffet.”

He gave a sarcastic wave to the light without looking at it.

Sans looked over at the light, brow bones drawn together. A camera, and a mic he supposed. Well, fuck.

“Sorry, Ketchup,” he said to his counterpart before returning his attention to the damning light. “That’s fucked up, you know? I thought I knew some shitty people, but this, this takes the fucking cake.” The part that worried him was: that might possibly be true.

“No shit, Sherlock.” The Sans rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, looking tired. He turned back to Ketchup.

“Listen. I’m gonna give you some advice. I know I never took any, but maybe you’re smarter than me and your buddy. You all there?”

Sans bristled at the implication, but kept his jaw shut. Information was always a good thing. When Ketchup’s eyelights flickered over to him, he nodded.

“Yeah,” Ketchup said, looking the native Sans in the sockets.

The Sans held up one finger.

“One, don’t make a big deal out of everything. You gotta pick your battles, or no one’s gonna take you seriously.”

He held up a second finger to follow the first.

“Two, don’t make…” he waved his hand over Ketchup’s expression, “ _that_ face, if you can help it. Bad folks’ll swarm you like flies to honey.”

He looked over at Sans.

“Three’s for Bitey. Honestly you’re just fuckin’ embarrassing. Like you’ve got a big stupid sign on you that says ‘I’m Tough, please try harder to break me.’ You’ve just gotta...cool it, or you’re not gonna make it.”

Sans swallowed down his response, now hyper aware of the camera. Until he got his feet under him, he would assume that anything was too much. No matter how badly he wanted to tell this Sans a thing or two, he had been talking too much. He settled for a glare instead.

The Sans turned back fully to Ketchup, taking on a softer tone.

“They’re gonna take you to a guy, Onion, and he’s. Well, he’s…” He gestured aimlessly, like he was searching for a way to sum something up. “-big? He’s not so bad. Just do what he tells you, and you’ll make it through okay. He’s not as bad as Muffet, at least. Think you got that, dead eyes?”

Ketchup flinched at the moniker, but he was eyeing the other thoughtfully. Sans wasn’t sure his counterpart could actually take that advice, at least, not fully. He wasn’t going to say it, but he was scared that Ketchup was already too well trained to the asshole’s preferences to ever drop the habits he’d gained there.

There was a knock on the door, and a large monster in uniform came in. The native Sans greeted him.

“You taking them?”

The large monster pointed to Ketchup.

“Just that one first. They’re supposed to go one at a time.”

The native Sans glanced at Sans, and then back at the large monster.

“What’s gonna happen to him?”

The large monster shrugged, moving closer to Ketchup.

“Ask Muffet.”

“No!” Sans cursed himself the moment the word left his mouth and Ketchup flinched. It would have been stupid to react back in the lab, and this place was clearly much more dangerous. One asshole with some dampeners was _nothing_ compared to this operation.

Luckily, the guards here didn’t seem to have the asshole’s temper. It ignored his outburst, standing in front of Ketchup and holding its arms out slightly.

“Can you walk a ways? You could follow me, or I could carry you.”

Ketchup walked forward a few steps, shakily at first, but by the time he made it to the guard he was standing a little straighter.

“I can walk,” he said, skull bowed.

The native Sans went up to him and clapped him on the back. Ketchup flinched away from the touch and turned to stare at the Sans with fear in his sockets. The native Sans put both hands up in a ‘no weapons here’ gesture as he spoke.

“...sorry, I mean...you did good. Don’t bother being scared of Onion, all right? Just do what he tells you. Hang in there. I’ve seen monsters scrawnier than you make it out in one piece.”

“Right…,” Ketchup said uncertainly before glancing back at Sans. Fuck, he wasn’t going to be able to do that. Ketchup was terrified, and Sans couldn’t even go with him. He felt his soul speed up as Ketchup was once again led from his sight.

The native Sans blocked his view of the door.

“Can I put your shoulder back in yet, or are you gonna keep giving me the hairy eyeball?”

Sans tried to peer around him, but they were already gone. He slumped and gave the monster in front of him his full attention.

“‘Right, do it. I give up.” He said blandly, turning the injured shoulder toward him.

The Sans gripped Sans’s empty socket in one hand, and his arm in the other, lining them up. He gave Sans another once over with his eyes. He seemed to take in the scars.

“You know this is gonna hurt like hell, right? You good?”

Sans took a deep breath, steadying himself as best he could in this position. “Yeah,” he ground out through gritted teeth.

His shoulder was popped back in with one quick motion. At least this Sans didn’t seem intent on causing him any purposeful pain. But fuck, it hurt anyway.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hissed. Once he was done, the Sans stood in front of him awkwardly for a moment.

“I guess I’ll...go find out what’s happening with you.”

He made an aborted turn, then in a moment was kneeling close to Sans, whispering to him.

“Try to tone down the hero schtick, for his sake. If you’re lucky, Muffet won’t use it against you.”

He pretended to fix the ropes to have an excuse to stay close enough to whisper.

“Onion’s not gonna hurt him. I promise. All right? Don’t answer. I’ll be back later.” Sans nodded very slightly, not all that reassured, but what choice did he have?

The native Sans got up, brushed himself off, and hurried to the door, letting it slam behind him.

Alone, Sans kept his body rigid and his face turned away from the camera as he allowed himself to process just what he had dragged Ketchup into.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHELP
> 
> HAHA
> 
> WHELP
> 
> WELCOME TO THE REAL SHOW
> 
> For anyone who hasn't fit slot A firmly into slot B yet and turned the cog to answer the mystery, know that I actually have a coauthor for this fic that we have been keeping secret, because reasons. The ever-magnificent Uggy of [Replacements](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7194014/chapters/16327235) fame:  
> Uggy ([AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/idontevenknowugh/pseuds/idontevenknowugh)|[Tumblr](http://idontevenknowwhattoputhereugh.tumblr.com/))
> 
> Mmyep, this is in fact a crossover between Red City and Replacements, and Uggy and I will be your gruesome hosts.
> 
> We're looking forward to going on a little journey with you guys. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	3. I catch the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time, we discovered that the surprise behind the mysterious door in Red City was a couple of monsters eerily similar to Sans.
> 
> Now we follow the adventures of the meek little skeleton who goes by 'Ketchup,' as he's transported to Waterfall to endure Red City's training regimen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the crossover no one wanted between [Replacements](http://archiveofourown.org/series/508959) and [Red City](http://archiveofourown.org/series/460441), featuring two different flavors of Sans and one third Sans that's just kind of a whore or something.
> 
>  
> 
> Here's the [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YXMHOPL7QpU) for the chapter.

Sans was brought into a gloomy chamber in what must be this world’s Waterfall. It was familiar in the way dreams sometimes could be, where a dream you’d never had before somehow felt as though you’d had it every night. The rock walls that he’d passed a hundred times before looked misaligned, like they’d taken a divergent path of erosion, just to mess with him.

He stopped staring at the walls as he felt the chill of another’s gaze. When he looked at the pool that took up most of the chamber, a creature’s head had breached the previously calm water, huge cat-like irises fixed on him.

Sans had heard the name Onion back home, but never met the monster himself, often shortcutting past most of Waterfall when he went to Hotland. He hadn't really had an image in mind, but he would have never imagined this.

A gigantic octopus with a hooked fin had only part of its body poking above the surface; an enormous, murky shadow under the water was the only hint as to how big the monster really was. The dark shifting of what must have been limbs obscured it further, leaving the creature’s true size, horribly, up to the imagination.

He heard the patter of footsteps by the entrance. The guard was leaving him alone.

Sans took a few steps after the last link he had to where Mustard was being held. Even this stranger was at least tied to something he knew. The cavern, the pool, and the monster staring at him felt foreign in a way nothing had up to this point.

A tentacle breached the water, moving toward his face. He shrunk from it, but didn’t do anything to stop it from touching his cheek. The monster raised its head enough so that its mouth was above the surface.

“You _do_ look just like him.”

The tentacle curled near Sans’s eye socket. He shivered at the gentle touch, sickening memories floating to the surface.

“With some exceptions.”

Another tentacle reached toward Sans, tipping his chin up and turning his head from side to side.

“What’s your name?”

Sans hesitated. This wasn't the demon, for all the monster fit the image of one better. His nickname would be just that, and not a cause for punishment.

“K-Ketchup,” he stammered.

The monster put one tentacle to its own mouth and giggled.

“Cute.”

Tentacles curled around Sans’s shoulder blades and gave a light nudge forward, encouraging him to move.

“Ketchup. Come a little closer to me.”

Sans didn't. He leaned back into the tentacles, his soul speeding up. Talk of just what the other Sans, what all these monsters, did kept flashing through his mind. He shook his head, words failing him.

The huge monster closed its mouth and let out a huff of air through its nose. Tentacles moved to lace over Sans’s bones, getting a more complete hold of him. His soul was beating a wild percussion. He jerked away from one tentacle only to run into another, surrounded on all sides.

“It won’t do you any good to say no to me.”

The tentacles lifted Sans fully off the platform so his feet no longer touched ground.

“See?”

Sans whimpered and thrashed. He understood, but that, along with any other rational thought, was being buried by terror. As soon as he felt his feet go limp, memories surfaced. Even his vision grew shaky as fear overwhelmed him. Where was he? Was this even real? It couldn’t be, such a crazy version of the Underground. Surely this was some kind of nightmare, if only he could wake up. Even the demon was preferable to...this.

The monster kept a firm but flexible hold of him, allowing its tentacles to bend with Sans’ movements so he didn’t hurt himself as he struggled. It might have reassured him of the monster’s gentleness, if it didn’t also imply that it was a little too used to having monsters fighting in its grip.

“Shh, easy. I won’t hurt you, Ketchup. I’m not going to do anything to hurt you. Okay?”

“I, I’m trying…” Sans tried to keep the tremor out of his voice. He fought the urge to keep fidgeting, but couldn't help but flinch wherever tentacles slid over his bones.

“There we go...better.”

More tentacles eased under him, looping under his knees and forming a makeshift chair, carrying him so he was held over the water, closer to the giant monster’s face. A tentacle slid under the neck of the collar. Sans tensed up, holding as still as he could manage as it pressed against the raw bone.

“Someone hurt you.”

Sans looked anywhere but into those huge eyes. He supposed it wasn't all that hard to tell, but to hear it said so plainly, by a perfect stranger, made him uncomfortable. He kept quiet as the monster waited for a reply, unsure what to say. A simple yes didn't even come close to covering it.

The tentacle felt along the rim of the collar.

“Would you be more comfortable if I took this off you?”

Sans’s mouth was open before he had even processed the question. Hadn't he longed to have the damn thing off? In the face of his current predicament, however, it felt safe, something that he understood.

“No...not really.” He replied, his gaze focused on the water to the right of the monster.

“No? Well, all right…” a tentacle pressed on Sans’ cheek. “But you need to tell that to me, not to my legs. Look me in the eye, Ketchup.”

He looked up, briefly, into those intense eyes before his eyelights slipped away to the side again. He forced them back.

“Leave it on,” he said, “please…”

The monster’s mouth spread into a wide grin.

“Sure.” The tentacle on his collar moved to touch under Sans’s chin. “Ketchup, I’m Onion. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi…” he replied, confused at the treatment he was receiving. When were they going to make him...do it?

Onion’s focus went somewhere to his left, where he was dredging something up from the water.

“Are you hungry? Did she feed you recently?” One tentacle absently felt under a wrist cuff. “Did you want these to stay on, too?”

He pulled a cooler out from the water, not looking at Sans as he asked.

“I’m not really- she didn't, but I’m not really…” Sans hoped he wasn't offending Onion. The native Sans had told him to go along with it, but hadn't said anything about having to make decisions.

“Please leave them, too,” he added.

Onion took the cooler the rest of the way out of the water and set it on the platform, giving it a pat.

“Well, there are donuts if you get hungry.”

Onion stroked Sans’s back, looking him in the eyes again. The giant monster’s expression was strangely earnest and warm.

“I’m going to give you some rules, all right?”

Sans relaxed slightly and nodded. He actually kind of liked the idea of having the rules up front.

“First, for today, you’ll call me ‘sir.’ Understand?”

He could do that. Not using the other monster’s name was actually preferable, as long as he could remember. He held the rule in his mind.

“Yes, sir,” he replied.

That earned a stroke on his face, whether he wanted it or not.

“Good. That’s good. Second, you’ll do everything I say, and you’ll look me in the eyes when I speak to you. And…” Tentacles curled over Sans’ face. “Hm. Do you have trouble speaking?”

Sans looked at the eyes again, though he felt overwhelmed by them. What did that mean? He had been speaking, hadn’t he?

“No, sir?”

The monster looked like he was considering him.

“Then third, I want you to be verbal, and tell me how you’re feeling. You’ll tell me when you feel good, and you’ll tell me if anything hurts.” The tentacles around Sans pet his shoulders. “But nothing should hurt.”

Sans flushed. “Oh…” That was...that was going to be a lot harder than the others, but he didn’t really get the impression, as gentle as Onion had been so far, that it was a request. He nodded hesitantly.

Onion snorted behind a tentacle.

“Ketchup, you just gave a non-verbal response to a rule for being verbal.”

Sans’s eyelights shrunk in fear. He had messed up already. He rushed to fix his mistake.

“Sorry! Yes, I will.” He tripped over the words in his hurry. In the pause before Onion spoke again, Sans realized his other mistake. “Sir.”

Onion’s tentacles were getting more touchy, rubbing over bones and lightly massaging Sans’s back. The soft feel of them might have been relaxing, if it had been in the least bit welcome.

“You’re doing fine, Ketchup. That’s it for rules, for now. As long as you _try_ to obey me, and don’t disrespect me, there won’t be any need to punish you. So I don’t want you worrying about being ‘good at’ anything I tell you to do, all right? That’s what I’m here for.”

Sans caught himself nodding again and froze. “Yes, sir.” He responded softly, his fear swelling. It was time...his magic reacted almost instantly to the thought. There was no way he could maintain eye contact as shame washed through him.

Onion’s eyes flit down to look at the glow between Sans’ legs, but went back to staring him in the face, huge and steady. Even without looking directly, Sans could tell. Onion kept petting Sans’ shoulders and back, not touching near his legs except for the tentacles looped under him, holding him up. Onion’s voice was soft, and Sans felt a tentacle worm under one of his wrist cuffs again.

“The one who put these on you. I want you to tell me how they hurt you.”

Sans’s eyelights disappeared as a dozen different memories flashed through his mind, each and every one a different example of what the demon had done to him. Feeling sick, he trembled and shook his skull desperately.

“Please, no, I can’t.” He pleaded. “Don’t make me...sir.”

Sans felt an exhalation of breath on the top of his head. Onion had pulled him closer so that they were almost touching.

“Shh. You’re safe. You don’t have to tell me right now, but it’s going to make things more difficult. I need to know what we can do with you. We’re not going to have sex today, okay?”

Conflicting emotions clashed in his soul. Relief, that he wasn’t going to be forced to do anything, the strongest of them. Even faced with the knowledge that the break was temporary, he welcomed it. Anxiety pushed back with the fact that at some point he would be forced to put the demon’s actions into words. Again.

“Okay,” Sans looked Onion in the eyes again. Just do what he says. Just get through this. “Thank you, sir.” He added, for good measure.

“You’re welcome, Sans.” Sans’s soul stuttered, but a second later Onion slapped a tentacle over his mouth. “Oh! I’m sorry. You’re really not like him at all, actually, you just look...hm.”

It was just a mistake, Onion didn’t know. Sans felt some of the tension leave his bones as he dodged a potential crisis.

But Onion was looking at him funny, tilting his head. He brushed a curved tentacle between Sans’s shoulder blades, then kneaded the same spot with a more purposeful intensity, looking at Sans for a reaction.

The pressure spread warmth through his bones, the sudden intense sensation making him jump. Had Onion changed his mind? Sans shifted uncomfortably in the tentacles’ hold.

Onion giggled.

“The same weak spots though, hmm? How does that feel?”

Fear resurfaced. Their secret didn’t seem so safe anymore. It was hard to focus on what Onion was doing, but failing to answer wouldn’t be trying.

“G-good, I guess.”

Onion stopped.

“‘I guess’? Does it, or doesn’t it?”

“It does, sir.” Sans berated himself for losing focus. He couldn’t do anything about that. All he could do was remember what the native Sans had told them, and use it to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Onion frowned. He drew back some of his tentacles, looking Sans up and down. Then a smile was back on his face.

“Where else would it feel good?”

The question caught Sans off guard. Thinking back to the previous night, he remembered how good everything had felt with no small amount of disgust...and longing. Fighting off a wave of nausea, he forced the words out.

“My sternum, my lower spine, and...down...there, Sir.” He flushed again and hoped that was good enough.

For a moment, there wasn’t any reply. When Sans chanced a look at Onion again, the monster’s expression appeared genuinely sad.

“Would it bother you a lot, if I touched those places?”

“I thought- I mean, no, Sir.” He should have known better. His shoulders slumped. There wasn’t any way for him to stop Onion.

Onion looked at him doubtfully, stroking down his sternum only briefly. Sans gasped as a jolt of pleasure went through his body.

“How does that feel?”

“Good,” Sans muttered, trying to keep his voice steady.

The tentacle swirled around the bone, sliding down it in a spiral. Sans moaned as his pelvis, embarrassingly, jerked against the tentacles underneath him.

“Oh!”

Onion stopped stroking Sans’s chest. He looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“Ketchup. You poor thing. I didn’t mean _that_ kind of spot. We’re saving that for later. You can’t think of anywhere else you like to be touched? Never had a massage?”

Sans was sure that, once upon a time, such areas had existed on his body, but he couldn't think of a single bone without immediately remembering the demon touching it, violating it, and making him like it. Tears starting to drip from his sockets, he shook his head.

“N-n-no…?”

All of the tentacles that had been wound about Sans’s face and arms fell away, the only ones remaining on him the ones that were holding him up.

“Oh no no no, shhh. It’s okay. You’re fine.”

Onion placed Sans back onto the platform, sitting him with his legs over the edge.

“Hey, do you know why everyone’s always behind you?”

Was...was that the start of a...joke? Sans tried to remember if he knew this one, the part of him that had indulged in humor shriveled and weak from laying dormant for so long. Nothing came to him, and he shook his head.

“No,” he said, voice still choked with tears.

“They can’t Ketchup.”

A startled laugh escaped him, and he brought his hands up, slapping them over his mouth.

Tentacles touched Sans’s wrists as though to move his arms away, but instead they fiddled at the cuffs again.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take these off you?”

He reconsidered his answer. It felt unnervingly like trading one captivity for another, but, if he thought it through, he was already Muffet and Onion’s captive, cuffs or no. So far, it had been a much kinder experience, at least here with Onion.

Really, wasn’t this the best possible outcome? He wasn’t fit for anything else, as had been proven just now. How would he have ever regained his life back ‘home’?

“Actually...yes. Please do, Sir.”

The tentacles dipped into the gap between wrist and cuff, taking a tight grip of the metal. Sans bit back a wince as the they rubbed against the bone underneath.

“Sure? No going back. This’ll be scrap when I’m through.”

Sans nodded and looked away. The tentacles snapped the cuffs off cleanly, tossing the ruined remains out the doorway. Onion lightly touched Sans’s raw wrist.

“That hurts?”

“Yes,” Sans whimpered, resisting the urge to pull away from the touch. Thankfully, Onion drew away on his own.

He frowned at the collar.

“What about that one?”

“...please take it off,” he replied. There was no point in stopping here.

Onion wasted no time in snapping it at the front, easing it the rest of the way off of Sans, careful not to scratch it against him. The collar went unceremoniously out the door, too.

“How does that feel?”

“Good.” He ignored the anxiety that gnawed at his soul. His body felt strange, without the constant weight of the articles.

Onion smiled at him, tapping tentacles on either side of where Sans sat to display his praise, instead of touching Sans.

“What a good boy you are. You’re doing very well.”

A tentacle opened the cooler.

“Let’s have a chat and a snack. Sure you have no room for donuts?”

Sans was sure, not least of all because the last time he had seen a donut, he’d woken to Mustard, chained to the wall and that…. But it seemed like it would keep Onion happy, so he held out a hand anyways.

 

-

 

Sans woke up the next morning in a dry corner of the platform, with a blanket over him and a pad underneath. It was rather nice having a blanket. The pad was a bit minimalist, but it seemed that was more in deference to necessity, considering the space it was in, and not as a means to degrade. Not a dog bed.

Sans could hear Onion talking on the phone.

Onion’s tone was sharper than Sans had heard from him so far.

“‘Exotic’ nothing, take the filthy things off him. It’s too late for your matching set, I already destroyed these.”

There was a pause, and Sans desperately wished he could hear the other end.

“Because it was this close to getting infected! No, he can’t come yet, I need more time with-”

Onion saw that Sans was awake. “Bye bye.” He hung up and tucked the phone away in one smooth movement. Sans looked away, embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping.

“Good morning, Ketchup. Come over here to the edge.”

Sans stood slowly, setting the blanket carefully down on the bed. He walked over with his head bowed. He hoped that Mustard was alright, but didn’t dare ask.

“You look like you’re walking to a guillotine. At least keep your head up; I promise you won’t lose it.”

Sans let out a startled laugh and looked up, even more embarrassed now. Onion didn’t seem to be upset at all that Sans had heard.

“Sorry,” he offered. “Good morning, sir.”

When Sans had sat himself down at the end of the platform, Onion approvingly tapped a tentacle on the ground.

“You’re so polite. I’m a little worried it’s because you’ve got the wrong impression. You know, Sans regularly gets away with fart jokes when he’s here. I wouldn’t recommend it around clients, but the bar isn’t terribly high with me.”

Sans took a moment to remember the native Sans, rather than the...last native Sans. He wracked his brain for something to give Onion. A few of his most basic skeleton puns came to mind, always an easy sell with his own bones on hand, but as he went to voice one, Papyrus, his Papyrus appeared in his mind and all that came out was a choked sob.

Onion’s cheerfully reassuring expression immediately switched to one of shock.

“What’s...wrong?”

Sans shook his head, unsure how to explain the issue without having to explain _everything_. “I can’t...I can’t think of a good one, sir. Please don’t be mad.”

Onion put a tentacle over where his soul might be under his flesh. “Oh! I was almost worried you were afraid of fart jokes.” He disappeared under the water with a plop.

Sans watched the spot while he thought over Onion’s words. The other monster was worried about what Sans was afraid of? Yesterday he had been insistent about knowing how everything felt to Sans. Did...Onion care...about-

A moment later, Onion’s head slowly came up from the water closest to the edge of the platform, near Sans’ knees. Without breaking eye contact or making an expression, his tongue stuck out of his mouth incrementally, and then he paused like that.

“Thppt.”

Sans stared at him for a soul beat before he chuckled, which gradually shifted to laughter. It felt and sounded strange to him, like he was out of practice. He shook slightly with the force of it, his tears drying up.

“That’s a relief. I think fart-related trauma would have officially been the worst thing I’d ever seen.”

Onion’s tentacles curled on the platform around Sans, still not touching him.

“Not everything I say is a matter of world-shattering importance. I’m going to be really obvious when I give you an order, Ketchup, so you can relax a little. I’m not going to punish you for not telling a joke.”

Sans nodded, just about drowning in embarrassment, again, as his laughter faded. He was dealing with a whole new set of rules, spoken or not, but somehow, it was more relaxed here. He let go of some tension, and decided to take a chance on the kindness Onion had showed him.

“Yes, sir.” He started. “Um, can I...ask you something?”

Onion looked interested.

“Yes?”

“Mus- my friend, how is he?” Sans tried not to sound too desperate, but he was pretty sure he failed.

“Oh--he doesn’t have an infection, I was just using hyperbole.” Onion tilted his head. “So far as I know he still has those cuffs on, but otherwise he’s fine.”

Sans smiled very slightly. He relaxed even further knowing that, apparently, Mustard had managed to keep out of trouble.

“Thank you, sir.”

A tentacle tapped confirmation on the platform. Onion looked over Sans.

“How are you with touching yourself, Ketchup?”

Right. He had almost forgotten why he was here. He fidgeted, and just barely remembered to look Onion in the eyes.

“Alright…,” he only had one viewer to go by, and he had seemed pleased enough.

Onion tapped a tentacle on his own cheek, just looking at Sans for a moment. Then he held up the ends of several tentacles in the air.

“Put your hands out in front of you, and lace your fingers together like this,” a mass of tentacles did a close enough impression of two hands interlocking.

Sans did so, curious where this was going.

Onion moved his tentacles over his head and behind him.

“Cup the back of your neck like this, so your thumbs each touch one side of your neck.”

Hesitantly, he raised his arms to mimic the pose. It shifted the shirt across his ribcage, the feel of the material strange. Once he had settled his hands behind his neck, he looked back to Onion, unsure how he would touch himself like this.

“Now take a deep breath, and when you let it out, rub your thumbs into your neck in little circles.”

Sans followed the instructions. The pressure of his thumbs felt really, really good. He sighed slightly.

Onion showed him a pleased half-smile.

“One-person neck massage. Now you can make yourself feel good.”

Sans did it again, his shoulders dropping as some of the tension drained away.

“Thank you,” he said with another sigh.

Onion talked Sans through a few more positions, having him massage other parts of himself over the next hour. He let Sans lie down after that, seemingly just to allow him to enjoy being relaxed. Later he fed him, watching as he ate.

By the time he was faced with another donut, Sans barely even thought about it. His joints felt loose enough to come apart, and his thoughts were equally fuzzy.

As he took the last bite, he felt sleep pull at him. Sans leaned back and let his head droop.

Onion’s voice was so soft, at first Sans didn’t register it.

“Ketchup.”

Sans woke slightly and looked up at Onion. Part of him screamed that he had messed up again, but he tried to ignore it to hold onto this feeling.

“Do you want your bed, or would you like me to hold you?”

“I can keep going,” he replied instead.

Tentacles were crawling close to him.

“Well then. How do you think you would handle _me_ touching you?”

His calm retreated further, but he nodded. “Okay, I think.”

The huge limbs closed around him, scooping him up and carrying him over the water.

“Above the belt only, for now.”

The tentacles shifted so Sans was held laying on his back, looking up into Onion’s face.

“If you’re lying to me and you do fall asleep, you only get four out of five stars.”

“I’ll do my best.” Now that he had gotten used to Onion, his tentacles were quite comfortable. He forced himself to focus.

Tentacles gripped around his shoulders and the back of his neck, squeezing and releasing in a rhythm. The limbs were a lot stronger than Sans’s small thumbs, and the effect was magnified.

“How’s that?”

He moaned, loudly, and flushed. “No, that wasn't, it just felt really good.” He rushed to explain, and it was mostly true.

Onion’s face contorted with repressed glee, like he didn’t want to snort out loud. He carefully schooled his expression.

“No need to feel so awkward about it.”

Two of his tentacles kept at it on Sans’s shoulders, but another tentacle undid the first button of Sans’s shirt and reached in to massage his clavicle. The first touch made him jump, but the soft feel of the tentacle was actually fairly pleasant.

“If we were meant to be ashamed of pleasure, I think this would be a cruel way for us to be wired.”

Onion didn’t stop touching him anywhere; he only built on each of his previous ministrations. Tentacles brushed over the breast of Sans’s shirt, sliding tantalizingly over the curves of each rib underneath.

“More to the point, it would be pretty mean of me to do this to you, then turn around and mock you for reacting.”

Another tentacle nudged the ridges of Sans’s spine over his shirt. Onion kept his promise to only touch above the belt, but Sans still felt tingling collecting at his lower spine, as his body anticipated being touched there. Onion lowered his face closer to Sans’s, speaking softly.

“You never need to feel ashamed for enjoying this.”

A tentacle slid powerfully up Sans’s spine to the base of his neck, making his back arch as if he were mid-orgasm. Spots danced in his vision and he gasped. That felt amazing. He didn’t even have the normal flood of shame in his soul, just a little spot of it as he wondered what Mustard would think. It wasn’t enough to stop his magic from forming, and he flushed.

Onion looked like he was trying very hard not to look too pleased with himself. He adopted an air of nonchalance.

“How did that feel?”

Oh, oh right. “It feels really good, sir.”

Onion slowed his touches, tipping Sans’s head up by the chin.

“I want you to try to be more descriptive than that.”

He wasn’t really sure what else to say. It wasn’t like anyone would care, anyways. He knew that when...whatever this was, ended, he would go back to just being a doll.

“I don’t know...it just feels nice...my magic is…” he gestured down at his pelvis uncertainly.

A tentacle nudged Sans’s gesturing hands up so they were closer to his chest.

“Okay, but we’re not talking about that right now. We’re not having sex. We’re just getting used to your body.”

Sans clutched his hands together. Wrong again. He gave Onion a puzzled look.

“Why not? That’s why Muffet won’t let Mustard and me go, right? To do...that...sir.” He asked. He realized it sounded rude, and hunched in on himself. He hadn’t seen Onion get mad, but he knew from the phone call that it was possible. He eyed the tentacles nervously. Why had he done that?

Onion huffed out air. He stopped rubbing Sans.

“Sure, that’s your job now. Just like my job is to get you ready.”

He shifted his tentacles so Sans was sitting upright.

“You want to know why we’re not having sex yet?”

Sans nodded, finding it strange that Onion would bother actually explaining anything to him.

“For one, because you can’t even say ‘sex.’”

Sans looked away, ashamed.

Onion put Sans down on the platform, no longer touching him. He looked him over.

“And because you were raped.”

So plainly stated, the words were like a blow. He felt tears start up, again. Grinding his teeth together, He looked up at Onion.

“If you know that much, then why do this? Why make me think I’m anything more than a tool to get off on, that what I like matters? They won’t care if I can say it!” Tears were running down his face in a constant stream. He sniffled before adding, “Sir.”

“Ketchup.”

Sans heard the tap of tentacles on the platform. When he looked up, Onion’s face was calm.

“I’m sorry.”

That was the last thing he ever expected to hear. Before he could get a single word out in response, Sans was bawling.

Onion laid tentacles over Sans’s shoulders.

“Shh. Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

The tentacles rubbed small circles over the back of Sans’s neck.

“It’s not your fault.”

Sans couldn’t stem the flow, shaking as he tried to stop. To be good. That was as far as training got that day.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic brought to you by the combined horrific efforts of Uggy and McLeech, les gens terribles extraordinaires.
> 
> Come tell us what you think, in the comments here or on tumblr:
> 
> Uggy ([AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/idontevenknowugh/pseuds/idontevenknowugh)|[Tumblr](http://idontevenknowwhattoputhereugh.tumblr.com/))  
> McLeech ([AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Germindis/pseuds/Germindis)|[Tumblr](https://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/))


	4. A Taste of You and No One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ketchup’s training continues, and goes well. Really well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s this? More tonally dissonant, uncomfortably good Ketchup and Onion times from germindis and myself? I’m sure this is going to end well.

The next few days passed about the same. Onion gave Sans a massage once or twice a day, and that was it. For the rest of the time, he found this or that for Sans to do. He brought out coloring books in plastic bags buried in his cooler, and gave Sans a rubik’s cube that was missing a few squares. Sans found them distracting for a while, before his mind would start guessing at when this, too, would end.

When Sans didn’t sleep all the way through the night, he caught more snippets of phone conversations that Onion seemed intent on having while Sans was unconscious. Sans got the impression, from the side of the conversation he could hear, that Onion was arguing for more time.

Sans wanted that, to stay here indefinitely. Aside from missing Mustard, it was the nicest he’d felt in a long time. However, the more time went on, the more anxious he got.

One day, when Onion was putting Sans down after a massage, he said something different from usual.

“Before you were hurt, did you touch yourself at all?”

It took a while for Sans to come up with any kind of reply. “Um.. yes, sometimes,” he said with a yawn.

“I want you to do it now.”

That woke him up. He lifted his skull and stared at Onion. “Right now?” He was so comfortable, and sleepy.

“Well, hold on.”

Onion fished for something under the water. He brought up a small egg-shaped vibrator and placed it in front of Sans.

“You can do it wherever you like in here. I’m going to take a little nap.”

There was a small wave as tentacles swished underwater, and Onion was propelled away from the platform, sliding further to the back of the pool.

“Only do what feels good, and stop if it hurts or you get scared. You can sleep after.”

Then his head disappeared under the water with a plop.

That got Sans to sit, and then stand, up. He looked around the room with some amount of disbelief, until he caught sight of a red light in one corner. Of course they wouldn’t really leave him alone.

He bent down and picked up the vibrator with two fingers, holding it by the cord. It didn’t really appeal to him, but he held onto it as he went back to his mat. The egg rolled onto the material in front of him as he contemplated it.

Performing at the demon’s whim had become easy for him, but this was something different. There wasn’t anyone to please. He didn’t even know where to start.

Sans sat and tried to will his magic into existence for probably ten minutes before he gave up. Stupid magic, all ready to go when he didn’t need it, but useless now.

He looked up at the camera. There was no way that Onion was watching, right? Not from underwater. Still, that didn't mean that no one was on the other end, or that it wasn't being recorded. Would he get in trouble for not trying? He supposed it didn't really look like he had, just sitting here.

Sighing, he shifted until his back was to the camera. He looked over at the egg, but it made him nervous. Instead, he brought shaking phalanges down to his clothed pelvis and tentatively rubbed along his pubic arch.

It didn't feel like much of anything. He slid a digit up his pubic symphysis. That made him gasp, so he did it again. He had trouble touching much else, so he unbuttoned his pants and slipped his phalanges inside.

He touched along the bones, wincing at the grating feel of it. He found a rough patch along the bottom of the left hole of his ischium. The other side was the same, and he teared up at the memory of the rings rubbing, constantly, chains jingling.

He pulled his hand out and took a steadying breath. It wasn't even painful, having had a while to heal. It would always be scarred, though.

Should he tell Onion? Would that lower his worth? The thought frightened him a bit. If he couldn't be sold, would they separate him from Mustard? Would he ever see Onion again? He would lose the only two monsters who cared about him. He felt tears start to fall at the thought, but quickly rubbed them away with his sleeve.

He reached back into his pants with purpose this time. His fingers rubbed over his pelvis, and when he looked up at the cavern ceiling, it almost felt like the demon’s touch, insistent and rushed.

With a groan, his magic formed. Keeping his gaze upwards, he felt at the outer folds of the magic. He found the nub of nerves that the demon used when he was trying to get things over with quickly. Sans rubbed it hard and fast, ready to get this over with.

His pelvis jerked up into the touch. Sans slipped his fingers into his magic and thrust them a few times, but the angle felt awkward, and he couldn't get them very deep.

Sans pulled his hand out and stared at the slimy residue left on them. Glancing over at the egg again, he grabbed it. He had to do this. He shimmied out of his pants, just enough to get easy access.

Holding the controls in one hand, he placed the egg against his folds and turned it on. The vibrations shocked him, and he fell backwards, landing on his spine as his pelvis thrust up. He moaned and rode the sensations until his magic got used to it and they dulled.

He shifted the egg, sliding it up to hit his most sensitive spot. When it did, he yelped, but quickly threw a hand over his mouth to muffle it. Onion was sleeping. He bit down on his hand lightly as he thrust against the egg, his magic tensing with an orgasm shortly after.

Panting, he switched it off and just lay there, waiting for his soul to stop racing. He felt, good? dirty? ashamed? Laying here on the mat, it was almost like being down in the lab, if he extinguished his eyelights.

Once he had taken a moment, he began to feel self conscious of the fact that his pelvis was still on display. That was new. He lifted it, the bones feeling heavier than usual, and slipped the pants up.

Sans looked at his hand, which was still kind of slimy and sticky. Slowly, he got to his feet and walked over to the water's edge. He half expected Onion to be right under the surface, spying on him, but there was no sign of the monster.

He knelt down and very gently washed off his phalanges. When he was done, he shook them off and went back to the mat and his promised nap, but his mind wouldn't shut off. It circled around the camera, his fate, and the demon.

-

After maybe an hour passed, there was a splash from the pool. A tentacle had breached the surface, waving hello before Onion’s head came up. His wave turned into a pat over his mouth as he yawned.

Sans hurried to sit up. He nervously fidgeted with the cord of the egg as he waited to see what Onion wanted from him now.

“You’re not asleep yet? How’d it go?”

“No, I couldn’t sleep,” Sans murmured, and he felt a blush spread across his face. “It was...good.” He already knew Onion would want more, and he wracked his mind for something to say.

Onion looked over Sans’s body.

“Have you been crying?”

He brought his hand up to his face. Oh stars, he did not want to talk about that, but he had stupidly forgotten to wash his face.

“Yes,” he replied. “It was because...I thought about…um….” Not sure how to talk about the demon, he held out his wrists instead. “This.”

Onion glided closer to the edge of the pool.

“Okay. That’s okay. I’m sorry, I should have told you--if you wanted to get me, you could have splashed in the pool. I’m a light sleeper.”

Sans nodded, hoping that Onion hadn’t heard him. He pulled his arms back and fiddled with his phalanges.

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Some tentacles laid on the platform, as though Onion were pushing himself up from it.

“Did you stop when you got upset?”

“No, I didn’t,” Sans replied.

“Ketchup, I told you to stop if you got scared.”

His blush grew and he looked down, unable to look Onion in the eye anymore. “I, um, it wasn’t really like that…”

Instead of looking at Onion’s face, Sans watched his tentacles tap on the ground.

“Did you make yourself come?”

“Yes.”

As Sans watched, one of the tapping tentacles made a beckoning gesture.

“Come over here.”

Sans climbed to his feet and walked over. He stood near the edge, shifting uncomfortably.

“Did you come by thinking about the way you were treated before?”

His soul pounded, and he swallowed. “Yes, well, no. It, um, I did, to a-arouse myself.”

Onion touched Sans’s face.

“That’s okay, Ketchup. What made you come?”

Sans turned and gestured at the mat. “The...the egg...thing.”

Onion snickered.

“It’s called a vibrator.”

Sans turned back to the larger monster. “I know, it’s just...embarrassing.” He hunched down into himself.

Another tentacle touched the other side of Sans’s face, the two stroking him together.

“Ohhh, no, Ketchup, you have to stop being this cute.”

He didn’t think he could blush any harder, but he was wrong about that. He smiled a little, though, happy for the praise.

The tentacles on his face stopped stroking. Onion had raised a tentacle to his own mouth, which was open in an ‘o’ shape.

“Ketchup! Don’t tell me…”

His smile was coy.

“You thought about me?”

Sans took a step back before dropping his face into his hands, his blush spreading even more.

He wanted to turn around and hide. But then, maybe Onion would like that. He peeked up at the other monster.

“Yes..I did...”

Onion’s grin grew, but it faltered as he reached out and brushed a tentacle against a line of tears on Sans’s cheek.

“Is this something you want to do more of?”

Sans lifted his head fully. He looked at Onion, wondering what would happen if he said no. Would he get to stay here, or would it end like he feared? He took a deep breath.

“Yes.”

Onion didn’t look convinced. He slid a tentacle under Sans’s chin.

“Listen.”

Sans straightened and looked Onion in the eyes.

“Touching yourself is for _you_ . There’s going to be time at Red City when you’re not with clients. I was thinking you could masturbate sometimes to relax, to find out what you like...but you don’t _have_ to. I’m not ordering you to. Do you understand that?”

Uncertainty washed through Sans. “Yes…? I...I don’t know...if I want to.” He felt tears threatening, but fought them off.

Onion pet Sans’s back in long strokes.

“Okay. That’s okay, Ketchup. You don’t have to.”

Sans pressed into the contact, trembling slightly.

“I don’t want you doing it if it makes you unhappy. It’s just supposed to be nice. For you.” Onion tilted his head. “I...especially don’t want you to do it if it makes you unhappy, and you think of me.”

Sans stepped forward, leaving Onion’s touch, and looked at him, panicked. “No, it wasn’t like that, at all…” He tried to explain himself, his arms moving along with his thoughts. “You, um, I like, spending time with you.”

Onion’s eyes sparkled as he touched a tentacle over his soul.

“And it felt really good, when I…” He braced himself, trying to keep from just running away across the cavern to hide his bashfulness. “-touched myself. There was just something that made me feel weird about it...afterwards.”

Onion opened his mouth, but appeared to rethink it as his mouth hung open for a moment and no words came out. He closed it, touching over Sans’s back and shoulders in silence instead, apparently thinking to himself.

Sans fidgeted, worried about what Onion might be thinking. He leaned into the touch; it calmed him somewhat. Finally, Onion spoke.

“You did fine today. It’s good that you tried it. Are you tired enough to sleep now?”

Sans nodded, relief pulling at his bones. “I think so.”

“Good boy. Go on.”

Sans went back to the mat. He noticed the egg with a start. He picked it up and held it out towards Onion. “What should I do with this?”

“It’s for you. You can use it as a vibe or a paperweight, but either way it’s a present.”

Sans looked down at it, feeling like he was going to cry again. He set it down at the corner of the mat before he looked back at Onion.

“Thank you.”

He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the mat.

\----

The next day, Sans’s regular massage had a change to the routine. Onion had previously avoided Sans’s sternum for the most part, but now, after getting Sans nice and relaxed by soothing his arms and back, a tentacle reached down his partially unbuttoned shirt and gave the bone a purposeful stroke.

Sans wiggled a bit, pushing down his panic. It felt nice, and he was going to do his best to enjoy it.

Onion pulled the tentacle out, using it and another tentacle to undo more buttons until the shirt was practically hanging off Sans, exposing most of his rib bones. For some reason, Onion left just a few holes buttoned, leaving an oddly modest protection of Sans’s waist.

“Does it frighten you when I touch there?”

“No,” Sans replied.

Onion reached into Sans’s rib cage, touching the underside of the sternum. He pressed his suckers onto the bone, then pulled them away with a pop. Sans gasped, the sensation unexpectedly sending pleasurable tingles through his bones.

“How’s that?”

“I like it,” Sans covered his face with one hand, embarrassed.

Sans heard a quiet giggle. The tentacle laved over the underside of the bone like a tongue, then curled over the top and sucked on it again.

“Ah!” Sans’s rib cage arched up.

“Good?”

“Yes, that feels good.”

Onion hummed as he paid special attention to the bone, adding another tentacle and weaving them both down it in smooth strokes.

Sans shivered and moaned.

“Hm. I guess not all skeletons have the same spots after all. Sans hates it when I touch here. Too sensitive, and not in a good way. It makes him cringe.”

As interesting as Sans might find that later, he just wanted Onion to do that again. He shifted and moved his hand to look at him.

Onion did a double take at Sans’ peeking eyes. He stopped moving his tentacles, looking genuinely curious.

“Hm? What is it?”

“Nothing,” he sputtered, ashamed.

The tentacle went back to petting his sternum, alternating stroking it and sucking on it, trying out different spots on the bone.

“Remember the rules. Tell me how you feel, and tell me if I’m hurting you.”

He stroked from the dip of Sans’s clavicle down to the tip of his sternum.

“If you’re not going to tell me what happened to you, that makes a lot of guesswork for me.”

“Right…” Sans swallowed nervously. “I like that a lot and, um, was hoping you would...keep...doing it.” He covered his face again.

Tentacles touched Sans’s arms.

“Which part?”

“The suckers...on the back of my sternum…”

Onion pet down Sans’s arm.

“Good. Good. Okay.”

The tentacle kissed the underside of the bone again, then pressed into it. It kept the suckers stuck on, pushing against it in undulating motions.

“Ngh!” Sans felt his body heat up as the continued motion sent a steady stream of pleasure through him. He shifted his pelvis, the prickle of magic gathering around the bones growing stronger.

Another tentacle snaked down the top of the bone, the tentacle underneath changing from its continuous roll to sticking and unsticking repeatedly. Every pop of a sticker coming off the bone was punctuated by half moans, each being interrupted by the next. His magic took shape and immediately began to leak onto his pants.

Onion’s humming became something more like a tune as he used both tentacles to wrap around the bone through the ribs. Sans tensed as they settled, the pressure of them between his ribs dredging up memories he couldn’t afford right now. He focused on the warm feel of Onion, the sound of the water lapping at the edges of the pool, and pushed all thoughts of the lab from his mind.

Onion stopped humming.

“You look a little funny. Anything you want to tell me, Ketchup?”

Sans shook his head. “Please...don’t stop…” the sooner the tentacles moved, the better.

The tune picked back up, and the tentacles slithered down together in one long, interwoven, heavy stroke, ending with a kiss of the suckers on the end of the bone.

Sans arched up, the whole movement leading to a burst of pleasure that wiped his mind clear, thankfully.

Onion stroked the underside of the bone again, pushing into it in a wave before going back to unsticking repeatedly, this time speeding up until the sound and feel was reminiscent of vigorous love making.

Sans rocked with the motion, all sorts of shameful noises spilling out of him until he felt his body tense and he finished with a guttural groan. He felt his release soak into his pants, and shame followed quickly after.

The tentacles started smoothly slowing their motions after Sans came, spreading the touches over the ribs and only finishing with lighter touches on the sensitive sternum. Onion seemed to know what he’d made Sans do, but he wasn’t commenting directly.

“That’s it. There’s a good boy. Just relax.”

He did so slowly, and went limp in Onion’s hold, closing his eyes. Onion kept up steady strokes on Sans’s shoulders and back. Sans felt his shirt being buttoned back up. After a silent moment, he heard scratching. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Onion scribbling something in a small notebook, still petting Sans with his other tentacles.

Sans held as still as he could, taking deep, sleep-like breathes, like he had learned in the lab. He wished he could see what the larger monster was writing. Before Sans could close his eyes again to feign sleep, Onion’s eyes flitted to him, then followed Sans’s gaze to the notebook. A broad grin split Onion’s face, and he pointed to the notebook in an almost exaggerated way.

“You want to see?”

Sans nodded slowly, warily. “I’m curious…”

A tentacle held the notebook open in front of Sans’s face. The pages it was turned to were empty except for a bit of newly scrawled text.

_‘Dear Diary: made a cute skeleton come for the first time today._ _❤’_

When Sans slowly looked back up at Onion’s face over the notebook, the octopus was still grinning giddily.

Sans must have been bright blue. He couldn’t decide if he was more embarrassed or thrilled. He covered his face, but kept peeking through his fingers to eye the notebook and Onion’s smile.

“C-c-cute?” He just about squeaked.

Onion stuck out his tongue and winked. Then he took out his phone.

Sans watched, curious and somewhat horrified. Onion was calling someone? Now?

“Muffet! GUESS WHAT?”

His blush dimmed. Was that it? Onion saw for himself that Sans could perform and now he was sending him back to Muffet.

“We’re going to need a change of clothes so this little one doesn’t catch cold. Yep. Uh-huh. Thaaank you.”

He hung up, then just looked at Sans for a moment with that same face, like he couldn’t contain his joy. Sans watched him, still pleased to be the recipient of such a look, his anxiety abating some.

Onion whipped the phone out again, this time miming dialing a number, but clearly not touching it. He put the phone to his head.

“Hello? King Asgore? _GUESS WHAT-”_

That was the last name he needed to hear right now, though unlike Muffet, mention of the King did nothing to dull his reaction to Onion’s teasing. Sans rolled onto his side and curled up in an attempt to hide even more, completely awash in delighted shame.

\---------

Sans stared blankly across the cavern. That was the best sleep he had gotten in a long time. His rest had steadily become more, well, restful. He had learned to relax more, now that he wasn’t constantly on the watch for the demon. Onion’s lessons had helped too, the massages and just the kind way the monster treated him. He snuggled into the mat, and felt a small pang of regret. This groggy feeling reminded him of home, his dingy mattress, and his brother.

When Sans turned over, he saw that a new set of clothes were folded next to the mat. He was a little unnerved that another monster had apparently been so close to him while he was asleep, but relieved that at least he didn’t have to have _that_ interaction.

When Onion called Sans over for his massage, Onion didn’t immediately pick him up like usual. He drew Sans’s chin up with a tentacle.

“I want you to try to describe how this feels this time.”

Sans fidgeted nervously and blushed. “Is that really...I don’t know that I can.”

Onion’s eyes searched him for a moment.

“Is it because you don’t know the words to use...or you do, and you’re embarrassed?”

He glanced away and then back at Onion. Surely, he could tell him about what the demon had done. Onion had wanted to know, and he wouldn’t hate Sans if he found out what happened, at least this one bit. Right? He felt nauseous.

“I know the words. Some, anyways. I am embarrassed, but that’s...that’s not really it either…” He paused, fighting back tears as he started to panic. He laced his fingers together and squeezed, trying to steady himself.

Onion tapped tentacles on the platform on either side of Sans’s feet. He’d tightened the proximity, but it was the same thing he did back at the beginning, when Sans reacted badly to touch.

The gesture had a soothing quality, now. He knew that Onion wouldn’t push him too much, that he was safe.

“The de-the monster that h-hurt me. He didn’t...want me to talk. He hated my voice…” Sans choked the words out, the tears spilling over and down his cheeks.

Sans heard splashing. Onion was slapping a few tentacles on the surface of the pool.

“Come into the water?”

Wiping the tears off, only to have fresh ones replace them, he gave Onion a confused look. Looking down at his new, dry clothes, he tugged at the shirt with his other hand. “Should I…?”

Onion giggled.

“They left some more for you in bags. You think cum is the only thing that messes up clothes with me?”

He gestured a tentacle, indicating the pool.

“They’re used to it. Go on.”

Sans wondered absently who ‘they’ were as he slowly sat down on the edge of the platform and let his legs dangle in the water. He slipped off solid ground nervously, landing in the pool with a splash. A tentacle curled into a U shape near his legs under water, offering him something to sit on.

He settled onto the tentacle, gripping it tightly as he looked down into the pool. The bottom was too far down to see. He should have expected as much, given that a monster as large as Onion could submerge fully.

Sans glided to the middle of the pool on the tentacle. Before he could look up into Onion’s face, water was poured over his head.

“There, now you know one of _my_ secrets.”

Sans stared at Onion through the water dripping over his sockets. Onion was smiling.

“No one can tell you’re crying in a pool.”

His tears renewed at that, but he felt much less ashamed of them. He spent a little while just crying, and Onion let him.

Once he calmed down, he made sure to catch Onion’s eye. “Do you...cry a lot?” He asked with a sniffle.

A tentacle brushed over Sans’s cheek, wiping away tears.

“I used to, a bit. There was something I really wanted, but I don't think about it much anymore.”

Sans looked down and awkwardly pat the tentacle. He had trouble imagining Onion crying. He always seemed so happy.

“I'm sorry.” He said, embarrassed for prying and bringing up something painful for Onion. It had been a stupid question. “What… what now?”

Onion laid a tentacle over Sans’s shoulders like a feather boa. Sans kicked his legs slightly, glad of the warm touch, comfortable and friendly.

“Well, to be honest, I had been planning on asking you about this after I’d gotten you a little more relaxed today. I didn’t expect you to come out with it on your own.”

Sans’s soul sped up, as it was clear where this was going, though he was glad it was Onion of all monsters.

“Think you could answer yes or no to a few questions,” a tentacle touched Sans’s arm, the tip acting as a pointer to the scars on his wrist, “about that?”

He gazed at the scars for a moment. Yes or no wouldn't be so bad, would it? Shaking, he nodded.

“Good boy.”

Tentacles rubbed Sans’s back. Onion paused.

“You said he didn’t like you to speak...but you’re talking to me. Was it only for sex things?”

“Yes.”

The tentacle that had been pointing to the scars now wound around Sans’s arm in a continuous roll, like a python crushing prey. Contrary to the image, the feel was like one of Onion’s massages.

“Ketchup, were a lot of things done to you?”

Sans looked away for a moment. “Yes.”

“Was it for a long time?”

“Yes.”

Onion tugged Sans a little closer, so Sans could feel his breath above his head.

“Okay. That’s all right. You did fine.”

The tentacle on his shoulders retreated.

“Do you want to skip the massage today?”

His bones ached from crying and the tension they still held from just thinking about the demon. Sans looked up at Onion.

“If you wouldn't mind...I’d really like the massage.”

Onion slapped a tentacle over his own mouth. His eyes looked a little gooey.

“Ohhh, Ketchup. I _never_ mind.”

Sans was suddenly swung into a hammock-like hold, on his back so fast that the ceiling spun a bit. Then Onion’s face was over him.

“If you hadn’t noticed...this is what I love to do.”

Tentacles enveloped his body like the kiss of waves on the beach.

\----

The day after that, Onion had gone back to a regular massage, not touching any of Sans’s more erogenous spots. As he brushed over Sans’s upper arms, he paused and looked over his face.

“Could you tell me how that feels?”

“It feels good,” Sans replied. Onion was still looking at him intently, waiting, and Sans glanced away before looking back at the larger monster.

“It’s relaxing,” he added. “Kind of tickles.”

Onion’s face spread in an appreciative smile.

“Good. That’s good, Ketchup.”

The tentacles moved to Sans’s collar bone, rolling over it through his shirt.

“How about this?”

“I like that,” he let himself press into the touch a little.

Onion’s grin pulled up higher at the corners to show some teeth. “Oh?” He kneaded into the bone with a bit more force. “And what do you want?”

Sans blushed, warmth radiating from Onion’s touch. He imagined Onion’s reaction if he said...it. The image made his soul flutter happily.

“I’d like you to keep touching me….and to….make me feel…..to come…..”

Sans felt a dip in gravity like the drop on a roller coaster, then the tentacles cradling him briefly gripped a little too tight, like they were overcompensating. Onion had almost dropped him. Sans reflexively clutched at them, his eyelights shrinking in shock.

“Fu—I—” Onion spent just a second rearranging himself and settling back into the gentle hold, apparently trying to decide on what face to make.

“Oh, you—” He curled a tentacle over his own cheek, attempting to mask a goofy grin with seductively drooping eyes. “You _would_ , would you…?”

Sans only blushed more at that, and looked away in embarrassment. Was that too forward? Clearly that hadn’t been what Onion was talking about.

“S-sorry, I...if you don’t want to…” He stuttered. He wasn’t sure how to take Onion’s expression and fidgeted against the tentacles.

Onion slapped a tentacle over his own mouth and snorted into it. Then he quickly lowered the tentacle, bringing Sans closer to his face to nuzzle at him. Sans tensed, but relaxed again as soon as he understood Onion’s intention. He brought one hand up and set it against Onion’s face, the gesture reassuring and emboldening him.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry Ketchup, I'm reacting all wrong. I can't seem to help it, I—ha ha, I haven't been surprised in a while.” Onion kept giggling, wiping a tentacle across some moisture gathered in the corner of his eye. He focused back on Sans’s face, his own expression finally under some control.

“That’s _wonderful_.” He put a sincere emphasis on each syllable. “You want me to make you come?”

Sans smiled slightly, still self-conscious, but no longer concerned about Onion’s feelings on the matter.

“Yes...please.”

“I want you to say it again. Think you can?”

“Um…,” Sans blushed harder. He focused on the warm feeling Onion’s smile gave him. “Please make…...me…….come.”

Onion went back to stroking Sans’s shoulders and arms. The feeling had taken on a background quality, as though the sensation of tentacles soothingly touching him was a default.

“That’s so good, Ketchup. How would you like me to do it?”

It could have been meaningful, or not, but a tentacle flicked over Sans’s right leg briefly. He flinched, but forced himself to stay relaxed. It was only a matter of time, and it would make Onion so happy.

“Would you,” he paused and tried to calm his soul, “touch me….all over?” He asked.

Tentacles undid the buttons of Sans’s shirt one by one.

“Of course.”

More tentacles reached in, petting at his ribs, coiling over his rib cage like Onion was going to pluck it out, but the tentacles only gave a strong stroke over the sides. Another tentacle slipped under his sternum and rubbed at the bone.

“Here?”

Sans moaned. He lost himself in the pleasurable sensations for a bit before he realized that Onion had asked him a question.

“Oh! Um, yes…,” he rushed to answer.

The tentacle on his sternum kept snaking over it as more tentacles slid up Sans’s legs. They brushed over his shins and coiled around his knees over his pants, pressing in.

“Here too?”

Relax, Sans told himself. That was Onion. Onion is nice. Onion wouldn’t hurt him. He’s warm and soft and kind. Taking a deep breath, Sans spread his legs a little.

“Yes…”

Onion reached under Sans’s shirt, very slowly, and snaked a tentacle around Sans’s lower spine. He squeezed it, curling and uncurling over it.

“How about here?”

“Ah, yes!” Sans arched his spine up, shivering.

All of the tentacles kept moving on him, kneading over the bones. They fell into a rhythm together, making Sans’s whole body rock a little in Onion’s hold, almost like he was already being...

“Do you want me to touch you anywhere else?”

Sans could only gasp and moan, his magic manifesting and his pelvis lifting slightly in response to the stimulation.

A tentacle slipped into his pants, slid down his crotch, and Sans could feel stickers brushing over the lips of his magic.

“...how about here?”

He brought his hands up to cover his face. Tears gathered in his sockets, but he couldn’t let Onion see. It always made the other monster sad when he was reminded of how broken Sans was. He couldn’t let him see.

“Y...yes…”

The tentacle rubbed over the folds once more, then found the little sensitive nub of magic and stuck on it with suckers. It pressed on it a few times, each push strong enough to make Sans’ hips swing in the tentacles holding him up.

Pleasure wiped everything else from his mind. With a loud groan he pressed into the touch. Shame washed through him, but was quickly overtaken by just how good it felt. That was...different.

When the tentacle pushed in again, it ground in circles on the same spot, then unstuck from it with a small, wet pop.

“AH!” Sans thrust up, following the tentacle as it moved away. The bright burst of pleasure was like nothing he had ever felt before, from the demon or even his own touch.

Onion’s voice whispered close to him.

“You’re being so good. How’s that? Good?”

The tentacle played at the nub again.

“Yessss,” he whined, his pelvis moving against the tentacle shamelessly. His face felt burning hot behind his hands and he moved them to clutch at the tentacles under him. Onion pet over his skull, cupping his face.

“That’s it. That’s right. You’re being very good. I’m going to take care of you.”

The tentacle in Sans’s pants alternated between pounding onto the nub and stroking down the lips, sucking on every surface.

“You don’t have to worry about anything. I’ll make you feel really good.”

It was too much. He felt dizzy and disoriented. All he could focus on was the way Onion kept touching him.

“I’m…,” he gasped out, unable to finish the thought.

The touches slowed down a little, the tentacle undulating against him, giving his body a small break until it began thrusting against him in rhythmic jabs.

“Are you close?”

Sans arched up, spine tight. He opened his mouth several times, but couldn't form words. Finally he settled for nodding. Hopefully that was enough. As long as Onion didn’t stop, he was just about to…

A tentacle stroked down his cheek affectionately.

“Well then, let’s make sure you come nice and hard, hm?”

The tentacle between his legs gave one last strong thrust, then rolled around on the nub, grinding on it. Sans came with a shout, his whole body tensing as he felt more amazing than he ever had during sex. This….he liked this.

The tentacle continued to roll against him, spreading the touches over him to carry him through the orgasm. Onion murmured over him softly.

“That’s good...you did so good…”

Sans basked in the praise, mind hazy. His whole body felt limp, like even if he wanted to move, it wouldn’t be able to. Something in him warned that it was dangerous to relax so much, but Sans ignored it.

Onion didn’t speak for a while, just letting Sans lie in his arms while his touches grew gentler and calmer, eventually fizzling down into soft caresses.

“You deserve a nice rest. Tired?”

He was carrying Sans to the edge of the pool.

Sans yawned, the suggestion to sleep surprisingly welcome. He nodded, about ready to drift off right there in Onion’s hold. Sans heard the drip of water on the platform as he was held over it, then he was pulled back, and it went back to the steady sound of water on water.

“Here or there?”

He roused himself, needing to consider the question. Surely it wasn’t fair for him to bother Onion further.

“The mat’s fine.” He said sleepily.

“Oh. If that’s better.”

Did Onion sound...disappointed? Sans looked up at him. Onion still looked as happy as ever, but for once he wasn’t looking at Sans.

“Which...would you rather?” Sans asked hesitantly.

Onion looked back at him with surprise.

“Well of course I like holding you...but you did so well, and I don’t want to spoil it by scaring you.”

Sans sat up fully, shaking his skull. “You don’t scare me!” He looked away, blushing. “But I’m sure you have better things to do than hold me…”

“Pfft.”

The tentacles that weren’t holding Sans spread wide to indicate the room.

“Ketchup. What things?”

Sans followed them, embarrassed. He had to assume, though, Onion could just be saying that to be nice to him.

“Besides…” Onion flicked a tentacle under Sans’s chin. “I like it.”

Sans blushed and considered the mat, which was cold and far too similar to a dog bed. He nodded, the warmth of Onion’s tentacles too tempting to pass up.

“Then I’d like to stay with you…”

Onion beamed down at him, and more tentacles curled under, cushioning him. When Sans drifted off, he was half-aware of Onion humming a tune. This close to him, the melody vibrated his bones.

\----

Sans regained consciousness as he was being placed on the mat. His half-awake brain was already trying to tell him he’d done something wrong and had no longer earned his sleep in Onion’s hold, until he heard Onion speaking in low, dangerous tones into his phone.

He listened, curious, staying as limp and still as possible. A tentacle pulled two sets of covers over Sans, stroking the crown of his skull. Onion didn’t seem to notice he’d woken him.

“No. I’m not going to do that.”

Sans strained, curious what the conversation was about. Hopefully he wasn't being sent back yet. Though he fought not to smile at the thought Onion might not want to let him go.

Onion’s voice was barely audible.

“You really want me to screw another one up for you? What’s the rush?” He paused, listening. “Because he can’t even _talk_ about sex yet.”

Sans hoped he didn't flush. But...another one? His soul thudded at the thought of Mustard. He hadn't given his counterpart much thought these last last couple days. He kept his breathing steady as guilt crept through him.

He heard a slight hitch of breath, and a deadly pause.

“You _what_.”

Suddenly, Onion was looking over at Sans, and he tensed. Deep breath in. Slow breath out. Onion was still watching him carefully, but he continued speaking, apparently convinced by his simulated sleep.

“How is he?”

Oh stars, was it Mustard? It had to be. Staying still became much more difficult as panic threatened.

Onion’s face had taken on a more terrifying appearance than Sans had seen on him before. His cat-like pupils were thin slits. It sent a chill through him. He didn't know that Onion was capable of such an expression.

“How _dare_ you play these games with me -” Onion startled, looking over at Sans and seeming to focus on his face. His expression was back to one Sans knew, concerned and full of warmth. He was meeting Sans’s eyes.

Sans flinched slightly. He had been caught eavesdropping again.

“Ketchup?”

Sans sat up slowly, abashed. He couldn't maintain eye contact with Onion and looked away. Onion spoke into the phone again.

“I’m not done with this. Don’t do _anything_. I’m going to call back.”

Sans heard a phone clicking shut.

“...Ketchup.”

He looked back at Onion, tearing up. Onion’s face was unreadable.

“I’m sorry….”

Tentacles tapped on the edge of the platform.

“No no no, it’s all right.” Onion sighed. “What did you hear.”

Sans brought his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. He looked down at the ground while he spoke.

“Something about...rushing. And you asked how he was...is it Mustard? Is he okay?”

The tentacles tapped again while Onion spoke.

“I’m sorry I scared you. He’s not...hurt.” He watched Sans. “That’s your friend’s name? Mustard?”

Sans relaxed somewhat and nodded. “Yeah.”

“And Mustard...was he also…?”

Onion’s eyes flitted to Sans’s wrists.

“Yeah…,” Sans said hesitantly. He hoped he wasn't going to ask about what the demon had done to Mustard. Already guilt had begun to swell. He didn't think he could talk about...what he’d done.

Onion’s expression had darkened at Sans’s response. “How does he d--well, what’s his...what’s his temperament?” Sans noticed that a couple of Onion’s tentacles were still handling his phone, apparently texting something while he was talking to him.

Sans watched the phone, curious if he was texting what Sans was telling him, or just continuing his previous conversation. Maybe even both. He looked down again, trying to put Mustard into words.

“He...he’s really nice.” He started. “When the- when he, the one who...Mustard tried to protect me, take care of me. He got hurt…” Sans trailed off, memories flooding his mind.

He heard the tap of tentacles a little closer to him. He glanced up, trying to wipe his sockets subtly.

“He sounds pretty strong. Was he badly hurt?” Onion was looking with concern at his phone. “Does he act much like you?”

“He’s really strong. He never...he never,” Sans sniffled, “he’s not like me. I’m weak. I gave up.” His tears flowed much more freely the more he talked. “I never even looked, after his second skull injury. I was so selfish…”

A tentacle reached out and touched Sans’s shoulder, rubbing it a little.

“Ketchup. You’re not weak. You survived. That’s not nothing.” Onion looked at his phone again, appearing to be deciding something. He gave Sans a sideways glance. It looked strange on him. Usually his eyes were intensely forward.There was something about it Sans didn't like. “You care about him a lot?”

Sans opened his mouth to answer, but paused. “I...he’s done a lot for me.” And Sans had done horrible things in return.

At that, Onion looked him straight on, eyes searching him. Sans curled a little tighter around his knees.

“Do you not feel the same way about him? I mean...just because he’s done you favors doesn’t tie you to him.”

Sans considered the question for a moment. “I do. I wanted to protect him. I just...failed.”

Onion dragged a tentacle over his own face and sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “You can--” He scrunched his eyes shut, then looked back at Sans, his expression a little ragged. “You can help protect him now. He may be just a...little bit hurt. Emotionally. I’m not sure.”

Sans’s head snapped up, his eyelights shrinking. “I thought-,” he stopped himself. Onion meant well. Sans had just misunderstood. “What happened?”

“He’s not physically hurt. He’s taken care of. But, he’s gotten...started.”

Everything stopped for Sans while he processed just what that meant. He had started? Started....working. Working as a….Realization settled in his soul and he felt sick. Despite that, he couldn’t make himself move, panic and fear and guilt locking up his joints.

“No….,” he whispered. “He isn’t- you haven’t- if I hadn’t taken so long…” He grew gradually louder, his voice panicked and shaking. If Sans hadn’t clung to Onion, Mustard would have been given the same treatment. He wouldn’t have been forced to work without preparation.

“Ketchup. Shh. Come here. Can I pick you up?”

Sans tightened himself up as small as he could go as great big sobs wracked his body. He had messed up again and hurt Mustard. He was weak and selfish and Mustard paid the price, like always. He couldn’t even stop crying now to do something about it.

“Oh no no no, Ketchup, it’s okay, shh…It’s not your fault. This isn’t your fault.”

Sans heard tentacles tapping on either side of him. They’d gotten very close. He wanted to reach out to them, to the comfort Onion offered, but he couldn’t make his body move. Tension pulled him in on himself painfully.

He felt two tentacles hesitantly touch his shoulders, then rub over them and down his back in strong strokes. The first touch made him flinch, but the familiar touch began to sooth him. Slowly, in stops and starts, he began to relax. Eventually, he stopped crying. He kept his head down, sniffling, as exhaustion took over instead.

Onion tipped Sans’s chin up to look at him.

“Ketchup? Are you listening?”

Sans nodded as best he could against the tentacle. His jaw kept shaking and he felt like he was just moments from bursting into tears again.

The tentacle moved to cup his cheek, and he pressed into the touch.

“You didn’t ‘take too long,’ okay? You didn’t do anything to make this happen. You did fine. This is going to be okay. All right?”

“A-all right…,” he sniffled. His soul still ached, but he did his best to listen to Onion. He knew the situation better than Sans, after all.

“Like I said, we can do something to help him. We’ll work this out. Just relax.”

Tentacles pooled in coils around Sans’s feet, like an offer.

Slowly, fighting the urge to curl up and hide from what he had done, Sans shifted towards the tentacles. Onion scooped him up. Sans gripped onto him tightly, Onion’s warmth seeping into his bones.

“W-what can I do…?” He asked.

The tentacles carried Sans over the pool and closer to Onion’s face.

“I’m going to ask you to do something a little difficult, so I need you to try to be brave like your friend, okay? We can help him by changing your places.”

Sans shivered. He would be the one...working while Mustard could come here and get Onion’s help. Be brave. He could fix his failure. Nodding, he looked up at Onion, tears still trickling down his face. Still, he tried to look brave, like Mustard.

“Okay…”

The tentacles stroked affectionately along Sans’s face, brushing away the tears. Onion fixed him with an assuring look, then after a long moment, looked down at his phone, which he hadn’t stopped texting on.

“I’m working out having you on a sort of probationary period. Only light work at Red City, and staying with me for a couple days each week. Hopefully we can get you on a very slow start while I’m looking after Mustard.”

More tentacles were slowly taking over Sans’s body, curling over him in familiar easy patterns. One rubbed under his chin.

“You’re doing a good thing, Ketchup. You’ve come a long way.”

It felt good, and Sans felt himself start to relax. Red City scared him, but he would be able to come back to see Onion. More importantly, Mustard would be okay. He had to be.


	5. If you give this man a ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It returns, from the depths.
> 
> Raised lovingly by Uggy and myself.
> 
> Chapter song: [somehow another Infected Mushroom remix of another Doors song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wQ3bJN1zLKw)
> 
> Let's check in on Mustard, shall we.

Sans tried the door one more time. It wouldn’t budge. Scowling, he turned back to the room he had woken up in. It was nice, which worried him. Ever since they had taken Ketchup away, he had been treated well, though none of the monsters had been willing to answer his questions, or even talk to him more than they had to.

There was no doubt in his mind that this room came with a price, one he wouldn’t like much at all. The only question was, when would he have to pay? Or was Ketchup already being forced to do so. Anxiety over the answer made him restless.

He eyed the dummy sitting in the corner. It seemed out of place in the fine room, but he was glad they’d put it in here. Muffet might be holding him against his will, but she had at least provided some comforts, like a way to work off this painful ache in his soul. Not that a dummy was hard to beat.

“Sorry, bud,” he said with a wry smile and pulled his arm back for a nice right hook.

The dummy sprang to life, shoving its face aggressively in front of Sans’s.

“You got it backwards, bucko.”

There was a blur in Sans’s vision, and the room tilted. Everything was swirling and melting down, and then his limbs felt too heavy. He couldn’t follow through on his punch, his arms instead swinging down to his sides like lead weights. And then a foreign voice came out of his mouth.

“You and me, we’re gonna get a little better acquainted.” He felt his face pull into a smirk, but this time he wasn’t telling it to do that. Panic coursed through him. “Sorry if things get awkward, ‘bud.’” 

Sans felt himself walking to the couch. The action was strangely disconnected, like movement in a dream.

 _What’s going on?_ He wanted to ask, but his mouth wouldn’t form the words. _What the fuck?_  

Sans’s mouth moved again, with that same delayed feeling. It was almost as though he should be hearing someone else instead of just his own voice talking back to him. 

“Another dim bulb, huh? That a skeleton thing? One’a these days I’m gonna do this and some genius will be all, ‘oh! I’m being possessed by a fucking ghost!’ and I’ll have a bag of motherfucking confetti ready.”

Sans’s body sat down on the couch and began fiddling with the buttons of his pants. He fought to move them away, but they wouldn’t listen. His mind raced to process the words, but it kept coming right back to the ‘possessed by a fucking ghost’ bit and getting stuck.

 _Possessed?_ He formed the question in his mind, but, not having the patience to wait for an answer, he added, _Get the fuck out!_

Sans’s hands stopped unbuttoning, and for a second he thought he’d gained control back, but then his head tilted back and a cackling laughter bubbled out of his throat.

“Ooh, that _always_ works. Go on, do it again, and add in some magic words.” Sans felt his magic manifest between his legs, and a moment later his hand was pulling his hard cock free from his pants. “I promise I’m real easy to exorcise. Few good rounds of blowing a load, and I go right away.”

Sans tried to will his magic away. It was his fucking magic, after all. That didn’t work either. He kept on panicking, but he was unable to do anything except yell into his own mind. 

_NO! NO! NO! Get out! Go away! I don’t want to!_

Sans’s body gave an unsettlingly pleased shiver.

“Heh. A little fight feels good.”

He spat into his hand, then started stroking up and down the shaft of his cock, rubbing the head with his thumb at each upward stroke.

“Guess what else feels good, y’little fucker.”

He leaned back, spreading his legs wider, and gave a few hard, quick pumps around the head of the cock.

He felt his magic react to the touch, which was just foreign enough to be unsettling. His mind continued to grasp for control of his body, but it continued moving outside his will. It leaned his head all the way against the back of the couch, and his hips began thrusting into his hand steadily. His eyes drooped, and he felt a sloppy grin spread over his face.

“Mm...yeah...just like that...”

He felt like he should be hyperventilating, and he didn't know what to do with the fact that he wasn't. The buzzing of anxiety had nowhere to go as it clashed with the building pleasure of his body masturbating without him.

_Fuck, no, please. What kind of freak are you?!_

His hand started moving again as he bucked into it.

“Not as much of a freak as you, apparently. You really like making your friends suck you off?”

A scene came to mind without Sans trying to bring it up- Ketchup, blindfolded, being forced to get Sans erect, while Ketchup was taken from behind.

He felt like he might be sick, but, of course, that had nowhere to go either. The nauseating flash of shame and arousal joined the emotions churning in his soul, along with another.

 _Get out_ , he insisted again with barely contained rage.

More images flooded in, of a dog bed, of chains, an ugly smirking face waving food in front of him, Ketchup entering him...

Sans flinched at the onslaught of memories he had worked so hard to bury.

“Goddamn, you’ve seen some real Marquis de Sade shit. What else you got?”

A vivid memory of pain came back, of the asshole digging his fingers into Sans’s head wound, of his own screaming.

“H-hooooly shit...” The ghost moaned out of Sans’s mouth. “That’s...ohh...”

He came into his hand, twitching into it as he finished rubbing off, fluids dripping down his fingers.

Sans mentally shuddered as he felt his body orgasm to images of the lab and what had been done to him there. He never thought he would miss the chains, but all he wanted right now was the cold cement at his back so he could slam his skull into it again. He would do it until his skull cracked apart and he crumbled into dust, if it got this fucker out of him.

The ghost made him scoot back on the cushion, then lie down on the couch as he caught his breath. Sans’s magic dissipated, but the ghost didn’t seem intent on leaving yet. Sans felt his own body getting itself comfortable, his hands cupping together over his chest, and a satisfied hum coming from his throat.

He slowly calmed down with it, though he still felt ill. His mind kicked back into action as the desire to do something, anything, to end this grew stronger. If this fucker was in him, then surely his consciousness was around here somewhere. If he could peek in on Sans, then maybe Sans could do the same. He focused on finding some hint of a foreign entity.

“Sorry sweetheart, it don’t work that way. You can’t gumption your way into mind control. If y’ain’t a ghost, can’t do it.”

Sans didn't stop looking. It was his fucking body. He had to have some way of dealing with this asshole. For that matter, he could be lying.

His body sat up.

“If you’re that curious, all you had to do was ask.”

Scenes were coming back to him again, but this time they shouldn’t have been things that he remembered. Sans was pretty certain he didn’t remember them.

He was looking down at his flesh and blood dick, sprung erect out of a mound of hair, and he was craning his neck forward ridiculously to try to suck on it himself.

He was thrusting inside of someone, and they were screaming. Then he was looking down at his own body, and its face was horrified. It pulled out of the other monster quickly, stammering apologies, insisting it hadn't been them, they hadn't been in control, and Sans just floated above, invisible, and laughed and laughed.

He was in some poor sap again, mid-orgasm, and he reached up to cut his own throat. He drifted out of the body to that amazing feeling, looking down at the blood dribbling over its partner as they lay in shock, trying to figure out what just happened. The loaner wasn’t dusting yet, anyway, so probably nothing to worry about. He could give that a go again later.

And then suddenly Sans was himself again, on his back and shoving his cock down the throat of a whore, a voice from somewhere begging him not to hurt her. But that wasn't right, that memory couldn't be right. He had never done that, he had _never done that_...

He shrunk back, reeling from the flood of images that horrified him even more than his own memories. He wasn't just possessed. He was possessed by a fucking murderous psycho!

“Hey now, lookit the pot calling the kettle black. At least _I_ never actually killed anyone. Probably.” He reached a hand into his undone pants, rubbing at the pubic bone with the cum still clinging to his fingers. “Ha, jeez, that really freaked you out that much? What’s wrong- a cold-blooded killer like you, scared of a little fuck?”

He jerked on the bone, getting the magic to form again with a moan through his teeth.

 _They were scum. You just hurt people for fun, you sick freak._ Sans made sure to emphasize that particular thought, hoping that picking a fight would distract the creep from continuing. Unfortunately, the ghost managed to engage in conversation while lazily stroking his cock.

“And what difference does that make, dumbass? Hurting people is hurting people. Really think the reason matters?” He arched up into his own touch, using his other hand to reach under his shirt and fondle his ribs. “You liked it.”

 _Of course it matters_. Sans shivered as he felt every stroke and touch. _Some monsters earn that fate._ He thought back to the satisfying feel of ripping the asshole’s skull from his body.

Sans felt an alarming spike in arousal at the thought.

“Ooh, you really _are_ a freak. Liked it that much, huh?”

Sans snarled, or tried to. He could feel how hot his bones were. It felt like being in the chains again, Ketchup in front of him, and he _wanted_ it. And he hated himself.

_What does that say about you, jacking off to it?_

His hand gave a hard tug at his cock.

“It says we’re a matched pair, freak.”

He moved himself onto his stomach, aiming his cock into where the two cushions of the couch pressed together. Then he wrapped his hand around his cock again, rocking his hips to hump the cushions and his fist at once.

The image of Ketchup blindfolded came back, of the asshole spreading him for display and slamming into him. Sans fought off a wave of arousal.

“Really wanted that tight wet pussy, huh?”

The ghost made him spit into his hand and bring it back around his cock, closing his eyes as he thrust in.

“You wanted to fuck him too. What’s got you stuck on your high horse?”

With his eyes closed, the wet hand around him, the tightness of the cushions closing around him, all he could think about were images of Ketchup being used. His mind sought any distraction it could find. All of them slipped through his grasp, overwhelmed by thoughts of Ketchup and the sensations moving through his body.

Then everything in his head was replaced with the vision of the asshole in front of him, horrible sneer stretched wide enough to take up the whole world, gripping Sans’s cock for one last rough stroke that he knew wouldn’t be enough for release, and he was so _goddamn_ close.

Somewhere disconnected, his body was rutting into a couch, panting.

Fingers dug into his skull again, opening his wound.

He came hard into the cushion, groaning, then rolled over.

“Goddamn that’s good.”

Sans retreated, his mind blank as he took in what had just happened. He felt sick, and so satisfied. His body had betrayed him, again.

The ghost was quiet for a while, closing his eyes and soaking in afterglow. He brushed his fingers over his sensitive pelvis, making it jerk up, almost as though his own body was afraid of more touch.

“Mm...at least one more time, for good luck, right?”

Sans blanched at the thought, but he didn't see any point in struggling. It was clear that there was nothing he could do to overpower or dissuade the ghost. Besides, he still couldn't shake Ketchup from his mind.

His fingers ran over his pubis, along the iliac crests, rubbed at the scarring on the inner holes of his ischium. His magic hadn’t reformed yet, still too sensitive from coming twice now.

The ghost arched his hips up to meeting the rubbing hand. The feelings of pleasure, of trembling sensitivity, mixed with a sharp pain in his skull.

“Damn, cannot get tired of that one.”

The asshole was closing him in, opening his skull, overwhelming him with pain, and the thought brought his magic springing back to life, twitching and needy.

Sans wished he could cry, but was also glad he couldn’t. He sunk into a spiral of pain, pleasure, and self loathing. He may as well be back in the lab. Did he even want his disgusting body back after this? He really wasn't sure. How could he ever look at Ketchup, even be around him, again?

He was made to mindlessly fuck his hand for a while, until the scene of the bastard tearing at his skull replayed, making his arousal shoot up. So the ghost brought back the memory and the pain again. And again.

And again.

It became hard to tell where pain stopped and pleasure began. Sans eventually stopped trying to separate the feelings, letting himself be caught up in them, like he had any choice. When was the last time he had a choice?

The pain stopped altogether. It took a moment for Sans to realize he had his hands over his eyes. Tears were dripping steadily down the side of his face, and someone was thrusting into him unevenly. When he drew his hands away, Ketchup was over him, sweat dripping from his brow, a focused look on his face.

 _No…_ , he thought. He could feel his fear and anger from the memory. Ketchup had no choice. There was always a choice! Fuck, he hadn't known anything back then. Sans had only wanted to help his counterpart, so why had he done it without the least bit of protest?

The scene shifted again, and Sans was pulled down painfully by chains looped through his pelvis. He heard a buckle being undone behind him and a rough voice.

 _You_ are _going to learn to behave._

He should have. Sans wanted to struggle, to kick and scream. He had been such an idiot. The asshole roughly stimulated him, and he felt his unwilling arousal, past and present, overlap. He yelled into a dirty rag, and then, with a sense of vertigo, he was crouched on all fours, moaning out his release as he squirted semen onto the couch cushion.

As he came down from yet another orgasm, he grew ashamed. Pleasure still ran through his bones. _Sick, disgusting, awful._ He berated himself, for getting any pleasure from his worst moments being paraded in front of him.

“Aw, it ain’t that bad.” The ghost made him stroke his tired cock again, and it twinged in protest of the overstimulation. “Come on, we can learn to enjoy ‘em, together. I’m up for a few more rounds. Whaddya say?”

Sans hated the idea, but he had a feeling that broadcasting so would only ensure that the ghost followed through. He just tried not to think about the suggestion at all, to avoid giving him any kind of reaction to work off of.

The ghost let go of his dick.

“Wow. Boring.”

He jumped off the couch.

“Maybe we just need something new. A little fresh air.”

He walked to the door.

Sans couldn't help himself, he fought to keep his legs from moving with a wild desperation born of panic. His clothing was all fucked up, his dick on display, and the last place he wanted to be after all this was anywhere he could be seen. The camera was bad enough. He didn’t think he could look anyone, stranger or no, in the eye right now.

His legs wobbled a little from his efforts. He felt his face pull in a toothy grin.

“ _Now_ we’re getting interesting. How about we find that friend of yours and say hello?”

He pulled at the door, and it opened with a click.

Sans put every bit of himself into stopping the forward motion. _No, no, no, no. Fuck no._ The last monster in the world, any world, he wanted to see was Ketchup. Possibly ever, but especially now.

“Oh, hang on.” He paused in the doorway to stuff his dick back in his pants. There was still an obvious glow, but the ghost didn’t seem bothered. “Gotta look presentable if he’s gonna fuck us.”

All thought processes shut down at the words and the subsequent stab of arousal. It wasn’t him, it was the sick fuck controlling him.

The ghost got them on a steady walk down the hall. They passed a few monsters, but no one seemed particularly perturbed by his appearance. A couple monsters did double takes, presumably because of his resemblance to one of their other residents, and a few pairs of eyes gave his crotch a stare. He tried to glare at them, but his face didn't actually shift to match the feeling.

He knocked on a door. There was a startled noise from inside.

“Muf- you’re not- ?”

The door opened, and the native Sans was peeking out, reluctant to open it all the way. He wasn’t in the fancy clothes Sans was dressed up in at the moment. Instead, he was wearing some ratty clothes that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Sans himself. Maybe it was his day off. He didn’t look happy to see Sans, especially in the state he was in.

“....yeah?”

Sans was forced to speak.

“Hey. Where’s, uh…” He licked his teeth. “Where’s Ketch?”

The other Sans opened his door wider. _Don’t, please!_ Sans tried to call out to the other Sans.

“He’s still with Onion, remember?”

 _Fuck._ Sans was made to push past the other him into the room. “Right, right...you’ll do.” The other Sans didn’t make much response to that. He didn’t seem to register what was meant by it. Sans, however, felt a chill go through him at the words. The ghost made them look around. “This your room?”

The other Sans looked uncomfortable.

“Yeah...? They, uh...they give you one yet?”

The ghost didn’t have him reply. He showed the native Sans a smirk as he swung the door shut, closing them in together. The other Sans looked him up and down, eyes lingering at the glow in his pants. Sans would have flushed, if he could have. _Notice something’s wrong, you idiot!_

“Uh...”

“You’re up for it, right?”

The other Sans put his hands up in front of him.

“Look, I don’t...know what kinda thing you two have, but that’s kinda...gross? We’re basically the same.”

Sans wanted to scream, _It’s not me, we aren’t..._ , but instead he was made to advance on the other monster.

“That’s what makes it fun.”

The Sans ducked away from them, going for the door. The ghost managed to get both of his wrists and hold them behind him. The other Sans’s struggle was weak and it reminded him far too much of Ketchup, trying to stay with the asshole. He tried to block it out, unsuccessfully. The ghost brought their faces close together, so he was speaking into the other Sans’s cheek.

“You’re used to giving it up, ain’t ya?”

The Sans turned his head away slightly, jerking in the hold.

“Not for free...generally...”

The ghost shoved him onto the bed, blocking his escape with his body. The other Sans didn’t look ready to put up much of a fight. He had his hands back up, like he was trying to placate Sans.

“Listen, this isn’t...” he gave a pointed look at the camera up in the corner. “This ain’t gonna fly.”

The ghost crawled onto the bed, dashing Sans’s hope that the camera would actually work as a deterrent. Some distant part of him was horrified that the fucking things were even in their bedrooms. Would his new owner stop this? Somehow he doubted it.

“ _You_ listen. If Ketch ain’t here, you’re gonna have to do some filling in. ‘M used to a certain level of luxury, all right?” He grabbed the other’s crotch. “Now make a cunt so we can get started.”

**Done fighting in there? Good. Now we can get you some a’ that pussy you wanted so bad. It’ll be just like fucking your little pal, won’t it?**

Sans bristled at the thought that he had given up. Everything he had tried had been futile, but he was not just going along with this.

 _No, fuck you! I don't want to do anything to Ketchup, or to him!_ He focused on the other Sans. _This is all you, sicko. Let him go!_

**Probably good it’s him first, then. Maybe a whore can teach you how to satisfy, huh? Not gonna get your friend in bed with that attitude.**

He rubbed at the other Sans’s groin. Sans almost expected him to respond just like Ketchup would, to scrunch up or freeze in fear. But he pushed their hands away like he was shooing away bugs.

“Ugh! That’s... _uck_ , get off! Go jack off or something, jeez!”

The ghost wrestled him down so he was crouched over him. Sans went back to his useless attempts to regain control. The native Sans gave a shout.

“Muffet!”

They clamped a hand over the Sans’s throat, closing in on him.

“Muffet ain’t interrupted us yet, has she?”

The other Sans squinted his eyes for a second, looking into Sans’s.

“....Mads...?”

Sans stopped his efforts, feeling somewhat relieved for the first time. ‘ _Bout damn time_. Surely the native Sans knew what to do, now that he had figured it out.

The native Sans only let out a breathy whisper.

“Oh fuck...”

When the ghost reached into the other Sans’s shorts, he could feel that his magic had finally formed. Sans really thought he had reached his limit for being horrified today, but nope. There was room for more as he realized that the knowledge his body was being used by the ghost made this _okay_ to the other Sans.

“That’s more like it.”

He leaned his face in close, but halted at the creak of the door.

“So that’s where you took him. I didn’t say you could fuck anyone else. That’s enough fun for you tonight.”

Muffet’s musical tones preceded her into the room as she sauntered in. She directed a guard in, who was hauling the dummy from the other room. Sans could hardly believe she’d actually come.

“Get out of him now, please, Mads.”

“Come on Muff, I was just joking. I wasn’t gonna.”

Whether or not Muffet bought that, Sans didn’t get to find out. As the ghost left his body, he was overwhelmed by the exhausting events of the night. He passed out, and the last thing he registered was the Sans under him swearing indignantly as he slumped onto him.

When he woke up, he was in a room a lot like the other Sans’s, but only he and Muffet were in it. She was rubbing his shoulders, a blanket draped over him. He would have thrown a punch, but all his limbs were sluggish.

“-ust going to keep you a little sedated until we can work out what to do with you, dear. This is your new room. Do you like it?”

He tried to look around, but his vision was blurry and his mind slow. Sedated? That would explain it.

“Now, I know your first session may have been a little alarming to you, but I don’t want you to worry about it, all right? You may not be used to things here, but Sans is.”

Don't...don't worry about it? That’s all she had to say? What little goodwill he had for her from her intervention was quickly draining away. He could still remember his body jerking off to...those memories, and shuddered. Muffet pet his head.

“He’ll show you what to do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: the gang's all here...!
> 
> If you enjoyed, feel free to comment here or say hi to us on the tumbles.
> 
> Uggy ([AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/idontevenknowugh/pseuds/idontevenknowugh)|[Tumblr](http://idontevenknowwhattoputhereugh.tumblr.com/))  
> McLeech ([AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Germindis/pseuds/Germindis)|[Tumblr](https://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/))


	6. When someone else is picking up the bill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a little bit. Welcome back! You're just in time for lounge night... 
> 
> Chapter song: [Alcohol by BNL because Germ is serious about precisely nothing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5kAJOSCyTB0)

Sans woke up sore. Everything was sore. The phantom feel of his magic was sore, even dispelled. That had been used way over the limit. He half-expected to wake up chained, or tied up again, but he was still in his new room in the complex, and the drugs seemed to have worn off.

He sat up slowly, testing his limbs and making sure that he finally had regained control of his body. No perverted ghosts, so far. Sighing, he looked around the room. It was sparse, much like the native Sans’s. Nicer than the lab, though he couldn’t actually convince himself that their situation had changed for the better.

Standing, he found that the ache in his bones made him a little wobbly. Slowly, but surely, he made it over to the closet. Looking inside, all he found was cleaning supplies and spare bedding. He tried not to think too hard about how often that was used.

He shuffled over to the dresser and opened the top drawer. With probably too much relief, he found shirts and pants in the various drawers. He got the garments ready before tossing off the oversized shirt he was wearing and throwing on real clothes as quickly as he could. Tugging on the pants, he relaxed at having something more solid over his pelvis, even if the fabric wasn’t much of a barrier in this place.

Sans glanced over at the shirt, feeling uneasy at the thought of someone dressing him. It said “puddin’ pie” in big balloon letters. He shook his head at Muffet’s terrible taste as he finished buttoning up his shirt.

As he finished, there was a knock at the door. He jumped, turning to eye it suspiciously. Looking around, he didn’t find anything all that handy. His eyelights landed on the closet. Rushing, he threw open the closet door and grabbed the broom. He walked back to the room door with it clutched in one hand, cautiously opening the door with the other.

The native Sans was on the other side. He looked like he had been about to say something, but when he saw the broom in Sans’s hand, he took a big step backwards and shut his mouth.

Sans lowered the impromptu weapon with a frown. Right, Muffet had said something about this Sans. He set the broom to the side of the door in easy reach. He didn’t really think he had much to fear from the other skeleton, but he didn’t trust him either. Not after...bad idea! He shook his skull slightly, trying to banish the feeling of the other under him.

“H-hi...,” he said, feeling awkward as fuck.

The Sans took one step back toward him, rocking on his feet.

“Yeah. Um. Sorry I said...uh...some things. I know Mads is full of shit. He just likes being gross.”

Sans felt his face heat up at the stark reminder of what had been said. He really, really wished the native Sans hadn’t brought it up at all.

“Right. No worries, I know you didn’t know...wait. Have you had to...with him?”

The Sans looked off to the ceiling, rubbing his neck. It didn’t look like the right response at all.

“Uh...yeah. He made me say stupid shit too, but it didn’t really come to anything then, either. Try not to worry about it.” Sans grimaced, recalling Muffet saying damn near the same thing. Right, this Sans was not like them. The other Sans continued, not noticing Sans’s reaction. “I shoulda realized it was him sooner, except I didn’t think Muffet would get you started already. She was probably trying to get Onion to hurry up with your, uh...”

He looked Sans in the eye again.

“Your friend’s back. You wanna go see him?”

Sans took a step back, his soul pounding. He wanted to see his counterpart so badly, to make sure that he was okay. If he had been through anything even close to what Sans had…. Shit, he wasn’t ready to see Ketchup yet. The thought of it filled him with dread.

“I...um...is he...I do, but...”

The other Sans waved his hands in front of him.

“I’m not gonna tell him anything Mads made you say, okay? Consider the memories dumped. Anyway, I think he was asking for you.”

Shakily, he nodded. The native Sans didn’t need to know the real reason he hesitated. No one did. He straightened his clothes, the feeling of them still awkward, but so much better than going without. The collar of the shirt chafed at his neck, and for one, shameful second he considered using the pain as an excuse to dodge Ketchup.

No, his counterpart needed him, now probably more than ever. He could do this. Burying everything but his concern for the other, he stepped forward, out of the room.

He was led through red lit hallways, into a small, narrow room with swinging doors at the end. Loud sounds of merriment came through from the other side. Inside the small room, Ketchup was waiting, sitting by himself on a bench attached to the wall and looking incredibly nervous.

Sans stopped in the doorway and looked at Ketchup. The urge to run away was still there, but he resisted. Apart from being nervous, that was just Ketchup as far as he knew, the other looked okay. His collar and cuffs were gone, but other than the bit of scarring he could spot, there weren’t any wounds on him.

“H-hey...,” he started, nervously, but forcing as much fake casualness into his voice as he could manage. “How’s it goin’?”

Ketchup looked up at him with a start. His eyelights were a bit sharper than he remembered, more...present. They darted around, looking him over.

“Hi...,” Ketchup finally responded. “Are you alright?” He stood, stepping forward before stopping midstep. He held his arms up, as if ready to hug him, in a gesture Sans found disturbingly comforting, having spent too long in the other’s care.

“Yeah!” He said way too quickly. “I’m fine, why- are you? Did they do anything to you?”

Ketchup flushed, sending Sans’s soul plummeting. Then he noticed that the other was...smiling.

“N-nothing bad. Onion, he’s really nice. I- I like him.”

Sans frowned, uncertain of Ketchup’s understanding of things. There was an odd coughing noise from behind him. When Sans spared the native Sans a glance, he saw that he was holding a fist to his face to cover his mouth, but his eyes had a strange expression. Had he...laughed?

As tempting as it was to ask, doing so in front of Ketchup might be a bad idea. He settled for a questioning look. The other Sans shook his head at him.

“So you guys...you go by ‘Ketchup’ and ‘Mustard’? Not...?”

“Yeah... ” Sans started, wondering at the motivation behind the question. There wasn’t any way that could be used against them, right? “Yeah, after our favorite condiments.”

“Cut down on confusion, huh?”

“Exactly,” Ketchup replied, startling Sans. “I guess we should find one for you, a nickname. What’s yours?”

The native Sans shrugged.

“Heh, well, I’ll eat just about anything.” He turned his back to them, going to pick up some uniforms from a countertop. “And I’m not too great at coming up with creative stuff. If it weirds you out too much to call me ‘Sans,’ I guess you could just call me ‘Red’ or something.”

Sans shuddered, and he heard Ketchup gasp behind him.

“Not that,” he replied shakily, “anything else.”

The Sans turned around, holding out two coats on either arm and looking a little shocked by the reaction.

“Oh...yeah? Well whatever you want, then. I’ve been called all sortsa shit, I don’t think you could call me anything worse.”

“How about...,” Ketchup lapsed into thoughtful silence for a moment. “Relish? Even if it’s not your favorite, it makes sense, I guess.”

The native Sans snorted as he handed Ketchup one of the coats. “Sounds both kinky and dumb, somehow.” Ketchup gasped and started coughing, hiding his face behind the coat while he composed himself. The native Sans ignored him and handed the other coat to Sans. Sans saw a sticky note attached to the collar that said ‘Mustard.’

“So our keeper knows our names too,” he muttered, taking the coat. “Suppose it was only a matter of time.”

He heard a whine from Ketchup and turned to find him frozen, half into his coat.

“You okay? Hurt?” He asked, quickly shrugging into his own and reaching out.

“No!” Ketchup replied, stepping back. He finished putting on his coat with a light blue glow across his face. “J-just surprised...”

Sans backed off. “Really?” He signed, watching the native Sans out of the corner of his socket. He didn’t appear to understand the sign.

Ketchup started and looked, much less subtly, at the native Sans. “Yes.” He signed back, and then turned away. Frowning, Sans gave up, for now.

“So, uh, what’re these for?” He picked at the jacket.

The native Sans didn’t answer for a moment, looking between Ketchup and Sans’s hands, and maybe Sans was imagining it, but he looked a little envious.

“Right. Uh.” He pointed to the swinging doors, where all the noise was emanating from. “That’s the lounge. A few nights a week, when we’re not with private clients, we go to the lounge and serve drinks.”

Clients. Sans eyed the doors nervously before glancing at Ketchup to see his reaction. He seemed nervous, but not much more than usual. Did he understand? The native Sans went on.

“Nobody’s allowed to touch you in there, they don’t pay enough for that on Lounge Nights. You just make nice, and pretend to like the drunks you serve.”

He put a hand to his chin.

“Muffet wants me to take you guys around. She wants us to be seen together as much as possible, which is making me think...we wanna be seen together as little as possible.”

Sans had nodded along with the explanation up to that point, resolved to try, if only for Ketchup.

“Wait, what?” He asked.

“Don’t get me wrong, you don’t wanna make Muffet mad. We can go through the motions when I walk you in, the letter of the law and all, but...”

The Sans crossed his arms, looking between Ketchup and Sans with an unnervingly sharp expression.

“I have the feeling I get where she’s going with us, and the less we put that image in anybody else’s heads, the better. Muffet...I think she sees us as a ‘set,’ you know?”

Sans did know. He also knew that he was going to be sick.

“Trashcan...” He asked weakly, trying to hold it back.

“That fits better’n ‘Relish,’ honestly.” The native Sans’s playful smirk fell as realization hit, and in one quick motion he picked up a small can and tossed it to Sans.

Sans caught it and turned his back on the other two, retching as soon as it was in position. He felt himself shake as images of the other two in...compromising positions flashed through his mind. There was no way he could do that.

“Mustard?” Ketchup asked, voice concerned.

“I’m...fine...,” He replied. “Just gimme a sec...”

The native Sans’s eyes studied the floor for a moment, then he was looking at Sans again, apparently unabashed.

“Sorry. Don’t expect much of that, if that makes you feel better. I’ve almost never been paired with other workers. Probably costs a bundle. I just don’t wanna give anyone ideas they don’t need...at the very least, we don’t wanna be conversation topics in the lounge.”

Sans nodded, taking deep breaths to quiet his soul. That made sense. Slowly he calmed down and set the trashcan aside, embarrassed.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” He said, looking away from the native Sans.

“Don’t worry about it. Come on, let’s let Muffet see us in the entryway together, then I’ll tell you where to go.”

Sans heard the door open, and the yammering from the lounge grew twice as loud.

He walked over cautiously to stand next to the native Sans, leaving a sizable gap. He heard Ketchup behind them, but immediately became distracted by the lounge.

It was a wide room with a bar in the middle that blocked the view of the other side. Booths were spaced out all around, filled with what he assumed were clients, and the workers dressed like the Sanses were. Sans was called out of his staring by the native Sans stepping in front of him, gesturing to Sans’s lapel like he wanted to straighten it.

“You mind?”

“Naw,” he said, forcing himself to stay still.

The Sans lifted his lapel a bit, eyeing a pin that Sans hadn’t noticed when he put the coat on. It was an image of some kind of slimy, shiny white flower. He looked to the native Sans for an explanation, but the other was giving the pin a puzzled face.

“Huh. Never seen that one before.”

Without another word about it, the native Sans went up to Ketchup, asking permission with the same gesture.

Ketchup nodded, looking down at his lapel. Sans looked closer, holding his questions for now. This time, when the native Sans thumbed Ketchup’s lapel, he dropped it again immediately.

“....aw, hell.”

Sans couldn’t imagine what about a tiny pin of a tuna sushi got that reaction. It seemed identical to the pin the native Sans was wearing. The Sans looked over at him and pointed to the bar.

“You should go pick up a tray. Go to the table number it says on it, and try not to make trouble.”

He turned back to Ketchup, reaching out a hand for him. Ketchup flinched noticeably. The Sans moved his hand away to point a thumb behind him, as though that was what he’d meant to do in the first place.

“You, come with me, walk fast, and don’t look at anybody.”

“What are these?” Sans asked, not about to leave Ketchup alone with the native Sans. Clearly they meant something to him.

The Sans didn’t look at him.

“I’ll tell you later.”

He started walking, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Ketchup was following.

Sans shifted out of the way as Ketchup did just that. What was he doing? Frowning, he followed after them. Hopefully he could snag a table near them.

Midway across the room, the native Sans’s attention was caught by something.

“Fuck.”

He turned back to Ketchup, giving Sans a split-second glare of irritation for following them. Sans glared back. He was technically on his way to get a tray. Technically.

“Ketchup, I gotta go take care of something.” The Sans pointed to the other corner of the room. “Keep going that way, tell the little mouse twerp you need the crocodile. They’re a soft touch, they’ve got you.”

And then, as far as Sans could tell, the native Sans abandoned Ketchup to fuck off and flirt with some customer with devil horns and a red cape. Ketchup paused for a moment, looking lost, and then continued on, following the instructions.

Cursing, Sans angled towards the trays, trying to figure out where this crocodile was, and how to end up near him. The problem was, he had no idea how this system of theirs worked. He looked at the trays, unable to put numbers with tables. Which left him at a loss as to how he should follow the native Sans’s directions as well.

The lounge was hot and noisy. Sans tugged at the collar of his shirt, wincing as it pressed into his wound. He couldn’t remember the last time he was around so many monsters. Not to mention that the room was so...sexually charged. Everywhere he looked monsters were flirting with and teasing the clients. It became harder to breathe as he tried to figure out what to do.

“Hey Sans!”

A client was talking to him, approaching him like they knew him. It was a tall, wolf-like monster.

“Heh, haven’t seen you since you were a footrest. Come on and serve our table.”

Footrest? Sans imagined it and immediately wished he hadn't. Shivering, he looked for a way out.

“I- I’m not Sans,” he tried to smile, but it felt like a grimace. “...Mustard, nice to meet ya.”

The monster scowled at him.

“What kinda joke is that? I’ll kick your ass if that’s a pun on something.”

He grabbed Sans’s arm and tugged as he started to walk toward a booth.

“Hey!” Sans pulled back. “I’m not joking.” He looked around the room, trying to find the native Sans, but he was nowhere to be seen. So far he had been useless, Sans cursed.

The monster ignored him, yanking him along with a powerful grip. He tossed him into a booth that was occupied by a few other drunken guests.

“Sans is in kind of a weird mood tonight.”

The other monsters seemed unperturbed by the statement, all calling out drink orders at once. Sans couldn't pick a single line out of the bunch, let alone catch them.

“Hold on, I can’t—" he tried to get his bearings while looking between all the talking monsters. “I can't keep up!”

 

The wolf monster slapped him on the back while talking to his friends.

“I’ll get ‘em. Sansy here’s an escape artist, aren’t you?”

He bore down on Sans, gripping his shoulder tight and speaking lower.

“Don’t think I forgot how you wormed away to be with Old Scratch last time. You’re sticking around.”

He let go and went back to the bar, leaving Sans alone with a trio of inebriated, over-enthusiastic clients. The one next to him was giving him a bit too chummy of a smile while trying to swing an arm over his shoulder. Sans flinched away.

“Heard you give pretty good head.”

The other monsters at the booth all laughed, like it was a very clever joke. Sans looked between them, confused. They couldn’t—he’d said they couldn't do anything to him here.

“Heh, sure...” he said, hoping to keep them happy. His response made them laugh even harder.

“Sure gotten used to things, huh?”

“He _does_ give good head, you should try him next time.”

“Where’s the beer?!”

Sans hoped his native double enjoyed the business. The mention of beer caught his interest, distracting him from the sex talk. He wondered what the policy on workers drinking was, because he could use a drink or ten. If it helped him play nice, would Muffet even care?

“Wolfy is, uh, sure taking his time,” he chimed in.

The monster next to him gave him a meaningful punch on the shoulder.

“Sans, don’t call him Wolfy.” Shit. Hopefully he hadn't heard.

A shadow fell over them. The wolf monster was back, sliding a tray onto the table. There were enough glasses for everyone, including Sans. The wolf started pouring beer into all the glasses from a pitcher.

Sans watched the process with bated breath. The last time he’d had a beer was...back home. A wave of homesickness hit him, and he wanted that beer more than ever. Leaning forward, he reached for a glass.

The monsters in the booth all stared at him, looking sobered.

He froze, anxiety jumping back up as he felt the weight of their attention.

“Um...,” he had no idea what was wrong, but he sat back in his seat.

After a shocked pause, the monster next to him looked very excited.

“Yeah, go for it!”

Someone was pushing the glass over to Sans. The other clients joined in.

“Drink up, Sansy.”

“Didn’t know you liked beer.”

“Didn’t know you _drank_.”

“Now it’s a party!”

Sans gave them a nervous smile, his anxiety dropping back to the background. The native Sans didn't drink, huh? His loss. Grabbing the glass, he tipped it back and took a nice long swig.

It was nicer than the piss Grillby served back home, and, ignoring another twinge of sadness for things lost, he slammed it down on the table with a content sigh. The monster sitting next to him gave an obnoxious ‘woo!’ at Sans’s enthusiastic first chug. The glass was only half empty, but the wolf was already filling it up to the top for him again.

“Hope you’re thirsty.”

The monster across the table who had confirmed that ‘Sans’ gave good head was leaning over to look at Sans closer, his eyes bleary and unfocused.

“You _never_ drink. What’s up with you tonight?”

The other client across from them elbowed his friend.

“Who cares?”

They were eyeing his scars.

“Did somebody beat you up real bad last session, Sansy? You drinkin’ to forget?”

That made him pause. For a brief moment he wondered if that was something that happened here. Then he realized, the scars! This was the perfect chance to explain that he wasn't who they thought he was.

Sans hesitated, taking another long drink. As soon as his glass touched the table again, the wolf filled it back up so quickly it was barely noticeable.

If Sans did that, broke the illusion, would they stop? These monsters seemed to really like the idea of the native Sans drinking. What harm was there in playing along for a bit longer?

“Uh, trying to forget? Yeah, somethin’ like that.” He grinned, and it felt a little more real.

The client next to him clumsily tried to pull him into a sympathetic hug, failing gloriously, to his relief and amusement.

“Aww, someone pickin’ on my favorite little whore?”

“Favorite nothing, you’ve never even fucked him.”

“I have an eye for this shit.”

“Eye for bullshit.”

“Drink up, Sansy, your glass is full!”

The monsters were all throwing back big gulps from their own glasses, the wolf continually pouring from the pitcher.

Sans felt himself loosen up as he drank from his ever-full glass. His grin grew as he enjoyed the drunken banter. Slumping back in the seat, he tried to put down the blurry monsters around him to memory. He wouldn't mind drinking with these guys again.

Suddenly, Sans was slumping back even more in his seat, sliding onto the floor under the table. Actually, the monsters were pushing him. He was positioned between the wolf’s legs, with another hand on him and a foot behind him to hold him in place. He pushed clumsily against their hold.

The wolf unzipped his pants, took out his cock, and shoved Sans’s face into it. He heard the wolf’s voice from above the table.

“Drink up, Sansy.”

“No, ge' off,” he growled, turning his head away.

Huge hands pried his mouth open, and the cock was forced in. Sans gagged, trying to close his mouth and pull away.

“Don’t be shy.”

A finger stayed wedged in the corner of Sans’s jaw, and another hand grabbed the entire back of his head to shove Sans further onto the cock. The tip of it hit the back of his throat with a bump.

“Nngh!” He gagged even harder and had to fight off the urge to be sick. It would serve the fucker right, but he wasn't thrilled at the idea of being the center of that kind of mess.

While his mouth was held open, the wolf’s hips started bouncing up towards him, rutting his dick down his throat in a drunken rhythm.

“Let’s feel some tongue, huh?”

“Uuuuuu,” Sans tried to yell, but the thrusting cut it off as he coughed and gagged around the cock. Just because they asked for it, he kept his tongue from forming.

The wolf kept fucking his mouth, apparently not too perturbed either way, until he came with a sudden splash at the back of Sans’s throat.

Sans winced and choked on the unexpected spurt of liquid. He could feel more of the cum dribble down his mandible. His sockets watered, blurring his vision further.

Then the cock was pulled out of his mouth, and he was yanked back up into his seat. A hand half the size of his head clamped over his jaws.

“Swallow it.”

Sans jerked his head, trying to break the grip. He really didn't want to, but the feeling of the cum sitting in his mouth was pretty fucking gross too. With a grimace, he swallowed.

The monster removed his hand from Sans’s mouth to pat him on the cheek.

“There’s a good boy. You’re off my shit-list, Sansy.”

Before Sans could reply, he was being sat upright, his beer glass slammed on the table in front of him. The beer now had some syrupy threads of a white substance floating in it. The other monsters were laughing, just as jolly as before, but with an added tinge of menace.

“Drink up.”

 

**

 

Sans had rarely been so glad to see ‘drinking buddies’ depart. He had only drank what they forced on him, disgusting as it was, and was feeling his mind sharpen up some. He had finally committed their mugs to memory, though with a different purpose in mind.

Standing, he fought down a wave of nausea as he looked for Ketchup. The crowd had thinned out some, and it didn't take him long to spot the other Sans at a booth with a crocodile, apparently at ease and chatting it up.

Sans made a beeline for his counterpart. As he stepped up to the table, Ketchup caught sight of him and looked up with a small, but relaxed smile. Sans tried to match it as best he could.

“Oh, hi.” Ketchup greeted him before turning to the other monster. “This is my f-friend, Mustard.”

The crocodile raised its glass in acknowledgement, knocking back the last of its drink.

“And my time to leave. I trust you can take care from here? Lovely meeting you.” Ketchup nodded, though he looked somewhat uncertain.

“You too...”

The monster gave Sans a genial pat on his shoulder as it passed. Sans watched him walk off with a suspicious eye. He seemed far too nice for this place. There had to be something else going on with him.

“How was your night?” Ketchup asked. Sans turned back to him with a frown. He watched as Ketchup stood and looked at the table for a moment before beginning to collect the glasses onto the tray.

“It was...,” he didn't want to freak Ketchup out. “It was fine.” He wondered if he was supposed to clear his table. If so, fuck them. This had been a shitty night and all he wanted, of the things he could reasonably get, were answers.

“You seen, um, Relish?” He asked.

Ketchup shook his skull. “Not since he went off with that other monster.”

Sans sighed, annoyed all over again that the native Sans had left Ketchup alone to go meet up with his...his sugar daddy, or whatever. He scanned the room for the other, but even as the lounge continued to clear out, there was no sign of him.

“I’m going to go walk around the room, see if I can't find ‘im.” Sans said absently. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” Ketchup replied. He really did sound at ease. What had this Onion done to him to make him okay with all this? Maybe the other Sans would know. He certainly knew the name.

Walking in a slow circle around the bar, Sans looked everywhere for the native Sans or the lobster he had gone off with. Workers with trays of empty glasses dodged him with glares, but he didn't pay them any mind.

As he was peering into some booths along the wall his foot hit something and he pitched forward with an, “Oh fuck!”

He’d tripped over a small, turtle-like monster that was too busy wiping up a spill of alcohol to notice Sans’s tumble right over him. It did take notice of him, however, when he managed to smear more alcohol across the floor getting back up.

“Excuse me.”

It didn’t wait for his response before nudging between Sans’s feet to scrub at the floor, and over his shoes as well. Sans scrambled away from it with grunt.

“Yeah, excuse you. Let a guy get up, at least,” he sneered, trying to calm down from having the other monster in his personal space.

The little monster was indifferent.

“You were dirty, Sans.”

“I'm not Sans!” He snapped. “And yeah, this whole fucking place is filthy. Kinda hard to stay tidy.” He got to his feet slowly, watching to make sure it didn't come at him again.

The monster pulled an offended expression.

“Woshua does his best.”

Then he did a small double-take at Sans.

“Oh. It’s a different one.” He quickly looked back down at his cleaning, as though eye contact was too much for it. “Woshua thought it was strange yo—Sans would come back here tonight.”

Sans cocked his head. “What do ya mean? Where did Sans go?”

The monster sprayed the floor with another gush of cleaning fluid that almost reached Sans’s shoes.

“He left hours ago with Old Scratch.”

Old Scratch? Hadn't that fucking wolf said something about him? Well, that certainly hadn't been part of their plan. He glowered, hoping the native Sans had a good time after abandoning them. Just as he was about to ask where that was, Ketchup walked up with Muffet.

“Hello, dear. It’s just about time we send you off.”

Sans turned to her, shocked. “Send me...where? I was just about to—”

“Your little friend told me you were looking for Sans.” Muffet ruffled a hand on Ketchup’s head. Sans glared at her.  “You’re not going to find him tonight. You have to go to Onion for training—it’s your turn.”

His soul sank. No time for answers, and now he was about to be carted off to whatever conditioning they had put Ketchup through. He wasn't going to give up that easily.

“I thought you were going to have Sans show me the ropes?” He asked, trying not to sound as upset as he was. “It's only been one night.”

Muffet waved a hand. “There will be plenty of time when you get back, don’t you worry.” She giggled behind another hand. “Sans is in bed already. I wouldn’t ask the poor dear to do anything else tonight—he kept very busy.”

She turned, motioning Sans to follow after her, and gave him a coy look over her shoulder.

“He doesn’t seem to like my idea of you three together much at all. I think he’s trying to keep his regulars happy so no one...steals them away.”

Well, Sans had no interest in doing so, so at least they could see socket to socket on something. He gave Ketchup a glance and signed, “Get information.” Ketchup looked at him like he was being ridiculous, but nodded.

“Onion is really nice, Mustard. He’ll help you...,” there was almost a wistful tone to the words, making Sans shiver. Somehow he doubted that.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	7. Cut 'em down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: [God's Gonna Cut You Down - Johnny Cash](https://youtu.be/DQTCS6aWRSc)
> 
> Chapter content warnings in the end note.
> 
> And now for a particularly anticipated meeting.

Sans felt his body drop, and decided this was a really weird dream, right up until his body hit something soft, but not soft enough.

“Ng,” he grunted, jarred to some level of consciousness by the rough handling. He was on his side, looking across a cavern that could only have been in Waterfall. Even with his bleary vision, the dull lighting was unmistakable.

His first instinct was to get up, but his arms and legs weren't moving. He glanced down to find them bound. That was strange. He was halfway to kneeling when he noticed someone was watching him.

There was a large shape floating in the pool of water nearby. It hadn't moved, but as his vision slowly cleared, he became aware of features, like some big freaking eyes, which were trained on him.

“Shit!” He fell back onto his coccyx, soul pounding. Was this...Onion? The native Sans hadn't been kidding when he said he was big. Sans stayed put, watching the other monster cautiously as his senses slowly sharpened.

“—re you all right?”

Sans could only partly match up sound to the giant mouth moving. From somewhere to his side, another voice spoke.

“-s drugged out of his mind, wouldn’t bother for a bit, anyway.”

“That’s ju-- ---at. Would you get out befor--- ymore damage?”

“—ine, Fine.”

There was an echoing sound, like footsteps, getting softer. The monster in the water was still focused solely on Sans. A shape waved directly in front of Sans’s face.

Sans flinched backwards, falling onto his back. How had that gotten there? What...what was it? He shook his skull, trying to clear it.

“What’s going- Where am I?” He demanded, voice hoarse.

“Easy. You’re n-- ---oking so good. Go on and sleep, a--- --en we can talk.”

Sans was eased into reclining by whatever had just been in front of his face. The haziness was taking over, and he couldn’t help but start to go out again, despite his efforts to stay wary. Slipping back into unconsciousness, he felt a relaxing pressure move over his bones. His arm tugged at the ropes slightly, intending to push it away. He didn’t want to be touched…Sleep claimed him again.

When he woke next, his whole body felt relaxed and comfortable. Sans couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this nice, and part of him desperately wanted to stay like this for as long as possible. He rolled over, one hand gripping the surface under him tightly.

“Well, good morning. Are you feeling alright?”

“Mmm...” Sans hummed sleepily. “Yea-” He sat up quickly, looking for the owner of that voice, not that he had to look far. The giant monster was peering at him from the pool. At Sans’s response to the question, the monster’s face had split into a huge, warm grin.

“‘Mustard,’ is that right? I’m Onion.”

Sans stared. He thought it had been a dream, a horrible, horrible dream. There was big and there was this guy. Shakily, he climbed to his feet, taking a few steps backwards in the process.

“Y-yeah...”

A tentacle breached the water and made a beckoning motion.

“Come over here, Mustard. Let me get a look at you.”

So that’s what had been in front of him before. Sans shivered, eyelights glancing towards the exit from the cavern. It was probably quick, but how long was it? If he could get enough of a head start, could he escape its reach?

“I’m, uh, I’m good.” He edged in the direction of the doorway.

Limbs shot out of the water and wrapped around Sans’s middle, securing his arms to his sides. He leaned away from the other monster, trying to break their hold, but he was lifted from the platform entirely, feet leaving solid ground. The smile had disappeared from Onion’s face.

“Don’t make me have to get you, Mustard. I expect you to do as you’re told.”

“Put me down!” Sans yelled, kicking his legs. “Let go of me, you freak!”

The tentacles around him gave a squeeze. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but it let him feel the strength behind the hold. Sans stilled, glaring as he was taken over the water, close up to the monster’s face.

“You know why you’re here, don’t you? Your friend was much better behaved than this.”

“Would be hard not to know.” Sans wiggled a little. “And good for you, you got a scared, hurt monster to follow your directions. I’m so impressed.”

A tentacle reached under Sans’s chin and turned his head to the side, and the large eyes looked over the scars on his neck. When Onion spoke, he was still looking at the scars.

“Ketchup did as he was told because he’s intelligent, and he understands his situation. Do you?”

Sans tried to pull his skull away from the monster’s touch. He’d seen first hand how weak Ketchup’s grasp of reality had been, just before they ended up here.

“Sure you aren’t just telling yourself that? Does it make you feel better, ya creep?”

Onion’s expression grew darker.

“What is it you think you’ll get out of provoking me, Mustard?”

Sans’s jaw tightened. “What do I get for being a good little monster? The _pleasure_ of you selling my body to the highest bidder? I might as well make you work for it.”

“We generally have fixed prices.”

Sans felt the other monster Checking him to see his HP.

“I heard you were started on the job already before you got here. Believe it or not, I _am_ sorry about that. I would rather things be easier on both of you.”

Sans raised a brow bone. Was he serious? “Sounds like you need to tighten up your operation, then.”

Onion acted like he hadn’t heard that response.

“Was it a difficult time? Were you hurt?”

“Was I—fuck, that’s a low bar.” Sans wiggled in the monster’s hold again, giving up when he didn’t budge. “Somehow, no, but I was almost forced to rape someone, and those fucks in the lounge did a number on me. Yeah, it’s been a rough week.”

The hold around him didn’t loosen, but it slithered over him, like a caress.

“All right. I’ll be looking at those tapes, then. I’m sorry, Mustard.”

The tentacle on Sans’s chin pushed upward, tipping his skull up.

“Right now, you’re here to be trained for your job, and I’m here to help you. I expect you to be obedient and respectful, or you’ll be punished. Do you understand?”

Sans didn’t really see an alternative at this point, so he nodded. Maybe he would get a chance to slip away later. “Yeah, whatever. Don’t see the point. It’s sex; it ain’t hard.”

Onion gave him a funny look. He brushed a tentacle over some of Sans’s older scarring, tilting his huge head a bit as he looked at it.

“Are these...from your captor? The monster that had you and Ketchup?”

“No...not really.” Sans was almost surprised by his own answer, but the asshole really hadn’t done more than reopen old wounds.

Onion looked closer at some of the cracks.

“From fighting?”

“Mostly,” Sans replied, trying to remember where some of them had come from.

The huge monster paused, considering something. He took a phone out of the water. Apparently it was waterproof, because when he dialed, there was the muffled sound of a voice from the other end. Onion hadn’t released his grip, but he’d stopped paying attention to Sans. He spoke into the phone.

“No.”

No...what? Sans leaned his skull forward, though it didn’t help him decipher anything from the other end.

“It means what you think it means. Send Ketchup back so I can finish training him. I’m letting this one go.”

Sans’s eyelight shrunk in shock. Let him...go... He should have been thrilled, but all he could think about was Ketchup left alone in that horrible place. Thrashing was just as ineffective as before, but panic made him try anyways.

Onion peered over at him, giving him a warning squeeze.

“Stop that. Just wait.”

Onion’s attention went back to the phone, and his expression grew gradually more annoyed.

“But it would be _pointless—_ ”

Something he heard cut him off from finishing. There was a small creak from the phone as the tentacle tightened around it. The monster was baring his enormous teeth.

“Yes. Well. There’s a lot of that going around.”

He hung up. He wasn’t looking at Sans, but the tentacle holding him was beginning to crush, just on the verge of painful.

“Shi—,” Sans winced, “Bad news?”

The monster turned to him. Sans wasn’t sure how it managed a poker face with features that big, but the anger was gone from its face all except for an ice cold shine to its eyes. The tentacle around Sans loosened slightly.

“Sorry, Mustard,” he said, but he didn’t sound it.

The tentacles let go completely, and Sans was dropped into the water.

“A—!” Sans yelped as he plummeted, the water rushing up around him as he flailed, completely disoriented. A tentacle helped him to the surface, getting his head and shoulders above the waterline.

Sans coughed, tilting his skull to make sure all the water got out while he wiped what he could away from his sockets. Turns out being let go was not quite as nice as he had hoped, but at least he had use of his arms again. He used them to steady himself on the tentacle while he tried to get his bearings.

“Ketchup seems to care about you, and I’d rather not make him sad, so I’ll hold off on killing you.” Sans stilled at the words. The tentacle began wrapping around Sans. “If you can earn your keep here, you can change my mind about you.”

A tentacle curled under Sans’s chin.

“Does that make your situation a little clearer to you?”

“Ye—yeah...,” Sans replied, trying not to shake. It wouldn’t take much effort from this huge monster to dust him, would it? He wouldn’t be able to do much then. His best plan was to go along with it, for now.

“Good.” The tentacle finished curling around him. It was a much lighter hold than before, but it surrounded him completely. “Then I’m going to tell you the rules here.”

Sans held completely still, as best as he could manage. So much contact from the other monster made him uncomfortable, and he began to fidget.

“You’re going to call me ‘sir.’ You will do everything I say, and you’ll tell me how it makes you feel. Understood?”

He grimaced. Could have been worse. He didn’t like that second one at all, but then, he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Yeah...,” he looked down at the water, his teeth grinding. Sans was getting really sick of feeling helpless.

The tentacle under Sans’s chin pushed his face up again.

“You will look me in the eye when you answer, and when the answer is yes, you will say ‘yes sir.’”

Sans lifted his eyelights to look Onion in the eyes. He knew he was glaring, but he didn’t know how to stop. His ability to smile in the face of anything had been stripped away from him.

“Yes...sir...”

“Better...” Onion said, but he didn’t look happy with it. “Do you know how to make a pussy?”

“Yeah,” Sans answered, startled by the change in topic. He frowned, nervous. Apparently they were just jumping right in after that. “I mean—yes, sir.”

“Do it now.”

Sans really didn't want to do that. “I don't think I can...just like that. Sir.”

Onion raised an eyebrow.

“No? Why not?”

Sans flinched. It shouldn’t surprise him that the monster was going to hold him to even unreasonable requests—orders. “U...usually have to be, you know, feeling it....sir.”

Onion’s eyes narrowed.

“If you’re trying to joke with me, it’s not the right time. Sans can do it.”

“Oh,” Sans focused on his magic, trying to get it to do something. He started to panic. “I don't know how...why would it form if I’m not aroused?”

The octopus’s mouth opened slightly and his brows drew down like he was half certain he was being had.

“It’s...is it a natural part of your magic...?”

“Yeah,” Sans replied, confused. “Of course.”

Onion’s face drew back a little.

“Of...course??”

Tentacles began to stroke down Sans’s femurs, and Onion drew close to him again.

“If I find out you’re lying about all this, it won’t be pretty. But I suppose it’s easy enough to see...”

Another tentacle curled in a spiral over the crotch of Sans’s pants, pressing on it with an insistent touch.

“Fuck!” Sans flinched, the sudden contact unwelcome. “I'm not! Stop that!”

The monster snorted, slithering his tentacles down Sans’s upper thighs. “It should have gone without saying, but you will _not_ tell me to stop. This is your job.” The tentacle between Sans’s legs rubbed against the pubic bone through his pants.

“Ah!” Sans wriggled. His magic reacted, starting to gather at his pelvis. Oh fuck, how was this turning him on?

A tentacle wormed into Sans’s shirt, pressing its suckers on his sternum and popping off it with a wet tug. Sans clutched the tentacle under him harder against the pull, arching slightly as pleasant shivers moved through him.

Onion smiled a little at the reaction, some of the cold in his eyes melting away. Tentacles quickly unbuttoned half of Sans’s shirt, and one slid under the sternum to suck on it, while the tentacle between his legs continued to arch against him, rubbing hard.

“Ngh! AH!” All Sans could manage to do was hold on as the tentacles moved over his bones and touched him in ways he hated, but his body seemed to crave. Tears pricked at his sockets as his magic pooled around his pelvis and formed a pussy.

Onion’s eyes traveled down from Sans’s sternum to his pants, eyeing the glow there. A couple of tentacles unbuttoned them and unceremoniously pulled them down, exposing the intimate magic. Sans’s legs shifted as he fought off the urge to struggle.

Onion giggled, a tentacle touching his mouth.

“So that’s really how it is. I wonder why you’re so different. I had to teach Sans how to make one, you know.”

Sans opened his mouth, closing it again as too many questions flooded his mind. Besides, he didn’t want to say anything that might give Onion anything more to go on. He settled for a shrug.

The tentacle on Sans’s sternum went back to steadily sucking on it, and one tentacle slithered over the lips of his pussy. His hips jerked, shifting away from it.

“How does that feel, Mustard?”

“Hm?” Sans looked up at Onion. “Oh, um, you’re touching my pussy. Little more wiggly and...fleshy than—I mean...it’s nice.”

Onion rolled his eyes. “At least you’re not shy.” The tentacle settled between his legs and pulled at the lips of the pussy with its suckers. “Different from what you’re used to, you mean?”

“Oh shit!” Sans gasped, his back arching. “Yeah, pretty different.”

Onion giggled again.

“Let’s get you more used to it, then...”

The tentacle slid over the lips, gently rubbing at them, then moved to play with his clit. Onion switched between sucking there with the suckers, too, and smoothly rubbing over it.

Sans’s hips slipped forward, legs spreading, as he mindlessly offered up his cunt to the other monster. He heard himself growl a little at his body’s betrayal, but damn it felt really good. Sex hadn’t actually felt good since Ketchup...the memories the ghost had uncovered surfaced and he felt his magic clench, growing wet.

While one tentacle kept playing with his clit, another prodded at his opening.

“Hmm, enjoying that, Mustard?”

“Nnn...,” Sans’s growl turned into a whine, “yes...” It was true, and he felt miserable about it. A tear slipped out of one socket.

The tentacle at his opening made a drill shape, curling into him gently.

“There now. That’s a good boy. So long as you’re good, there’s no need to hurt you. Just tell me if any of this hurts, and I’ll stop.”

Sans wanted to be annoyed at being called a ‘good boy’, but he couldn’t think of much besides the tentacle slithering into him. He should have expected Onion to be good at this, knowing what his job was. Even with the differences between him and the native Sans, Onion had—Onion had learned on Ketchup first.

“Fuck!” Sans felt more tears drip down his skull as he began to struggle weakly. This was wrong, it was so fucking wrong.

Now smoothly in, the tentacle began to pump inside of Sans, lifting him up and down. More tentacles rubbed and stroked over his bones, easily finding the places that felt the best, that were the most sensitive.

“Don’t fight, Mustard. Just enjoy it.”

“No...,” he moaned, not able to pick a tentacle to fight off, and failing all together. He just wanted them off him, even as his pelvis responded to the thrusting of the tentacle by twitching in pleasure.

Onion’s voice was terse.

“Mustard. I said don’t fight me.”

Sans was tipped back, tentacles supporting him as he was adjusted into a lying down position, one tentacle still pounding away in him, others holding his legs spread open. He jerked against them, but the motion only pushed his body into the tentacle.

“Hha!” He gasped.

A shadow fell over Sans’s face. He’d been positioned so he was held out right under the monster’s head, and the huge glowing eyes were staring down at him.

“I gave you a break at the beginning because you’d had a rough time of it. But if you fight me or talk back one more time, I’ll have to punish you, understand?”

“What did you—Ah!” Sans stared up at Onion, mind nothing but arousal and panic. “You’re raping me!”

The intense eyes flashed over in anger for a second, but then the monster’s face was calm. It was somehow more unsettling than fury.

“We’ll finish up first, then, and then you’ll have your punishment.”

The tentacle that had been playing at Sans’s clit started to pound on it, building him up quickly. His spine was stroked in long arching touches, pushing him into the tentacles working over his pussy. The sudden spike in stimulation was dizzying.

“Ahhh!” It didn’t take much of it for him to come, body shaking and tense.

The tentacles eased him down from the feeling, slowing and becoming more gentle, stretching out the unwanted afterglow.

“There now, how did that feel?”

Sans didn’t answer. He was already in trouble with the larger monster, and anything that came out of his mouth right now would only make things worse. He just stared upwards, trying to stem the flow of tears. No need to look as weak as he felt.

“Mustard. Answer me. _Now_.”

He ground his teeth and glared up at Onion, his vision watery.

“It felt like being violated.” He hissed.

Sans was hauled upright again, tentacles wrapping his arms to his sides. His pants were left down.

“All right then.”

A tentacle touched on Sans’s chest, and he felt a bizarre tug. His chest glowed, his soul called forward and into the waiting tentacle. The little heart was plucked away and held in front of him, a tentacle sliding around it and pressing in firmly. It felt like his world was being constricted.

‘Wha—hah—,” Sans stared at his soul, frantically willing it to come back into his body. Being fucked wasn’t anywhere as violating as this.

A tentacle squirmed into Sans’s soul. It spread a horrifying sensation with it, like things were crawling all over the inside.

“Get out!” Sans screamed, thrashing.

“Try again, Mustard.”

The tentacle jabbed once, then gave a nudge. There was some kind of bursting on the inside that made reality fuzz around the edges, and then it was as though pure fear was being pumped into him, like it were some tangible liquid.

Sans’s mouth hung open, drool running down his mandible. He whimpered, terrified like he had never been before. Try...try what...?

More tentacles wriggled in, and Sans felt a penetration somewhere deeper than inside his body. It was all-pervasive, inescapable, couldn’t be shut off by taking his mind elsewhere, because it was all he could think about or feel. 

“S...top...,” he gasped, his whole body shaking. “Please...”

And just like that, it stopped.

“Since you asked nicely.”

The tentacles drew out of his soul, their touch strangely absent of sensation on the way out. The tentacle holding the soul uncurled and allowed it to float to Sans’s chest, where it phased back in as though nothing had been done to it.

There was a pause, like the monster was giving Sans time to come to himself. Or maybe to think about what had just happened. The fear ebbed, but his bones still trembled. A tentacle tilted Sans’s face up by the chin.

“Think you can behave yourself from here on?”

“Yes...,” he whispered.

The tentacle slid up the side of his jaw. The huge eyes were burning into his, gaze pitiless.

“Yes _what_ , Mustard?”

“Yes, sir.” He choked out. His soul felt wrong. Sans almost wanted it back out and away from him entirely.

The monster stroked his face tenderly.

“Good boy. I’m sure you’re tired. Shall we call it a day?”

“Please,” Sans whispered, bowing his skull.

“All right.”

There was a splashing. Tentacles had forced a metal cage to breach the water, and it was placed on the platform. Onion opened the door of it and placed a mat in the middle of it, on the floor.

Sans was raised up over the pool and lowered into the cage, a donut placed on the end of the mat. The tentacle tapped on the donut invitingly, indicating that it was there for him to eat. The cage door was closed and locked.

He ignored the donut, clutching at his sternum tightly. His magic was pounding through his body. The urge to fight, to run, to _anything_ if it would spare him another moment in Onion’s presence, weighed on him.

All he could do was lay down and pretend he wasn't crying.

 

**

 

It was like waking up in the lab, but worse. Onion didn’t go anywhere, and Sans was not going to get any time to collect himself after the horrors of yesterday. He didn’t sit up, laying on the mat in an attempt to buy himself some time, even a bit.

There was nothing he could do to prepare for what Onion might do to him today. He didn’t know what to prepare for. The monster was far crueler than he had expected. Fuck, he didn’t even have a reason, like the asshole did. This was...business, and Onion hadn’t even wanted to ‘train’ him.

The thought of Ketchup going through this, and saying it wasn’t so bad...what happened next? Sans rolled onto his front, skull on his arm, as he tried to fight off tears.

The door on the top of the cage creaked open. Sans flinched, but held still. A tentacle reached in and lifted him up and out, then set him on the platform, still a bit away from the edge of the pool. The tentacle drew away from him, leaving him untouched.

“Good morning, Mustard. Come here.”

Sans shakily took a step forward, then paused. He knew he had to do what Onion said. The best way to get through this without giving in entirely was to go along with it, avoid ‘punishments’, and always remember it was wrong. His body, however, didn’t want to get any closer to the other monster. It had locked up, fear outweighing conviction.

“It’s a bit early in the morning for you to be asking for punishment again already.”

“I’m not!” Sans cried out, the threat making him stumble forward a few more steps. He fell to his knees in his rush, sliding along the ground a few inches, painfully. “I’m not...I just need a minute.”

A tentacle reached around his middle and picked him up, carrying him over the surface of the water.

“All right, easy, easy.”

He was held in front of Onion’s face. A tentacle brushed over his knees, smoothing out his pants.

“Listen. Your behavior yesterday was unacceptable, but we’re starting today with a clean slate. If you _really_ don’t understand why I was annoyed with you, you can ask me, but I think you know what you did.”

Onion slid a tentacle over Sans’s left arm and stopped it at the wrist, lightly touching the scarring from the cuffs.

“I get the feeling that, before all this,” Onion looked down at the wrist scars, “you were quite used to getting things your way. That’s just not the way things work here. You’re done being spoiled, so you’d better grow up and do your job like you’re supposed to, like the rest of us.”

A tentacle curled under Sans’s chin.

“Is that understood?”

Sans pulled his arm away from Onion, rubbing at the scarring. There was a familiar spark of anger at the assertion he was being spoiled, that his freedom was somehow an unreasonable desire. He smothered it quickly. Despite his talk of a clean slate, Onion seemed primed and ready to subject Sans to hell again.

“Yes, sir.”

The tentacle grasped his arm again, just below the elbow, and stretched it back out toward Onion.

“Do _not_ pull away from me.”

“Shit, um, sorry...,” Sans clenched his fist, trying not to pull the limb back again. The feel of the tentacle was making him nervous.

“That’s all right, there we go.” Onion only held his arm out for a second longer, then let go. He was apparently less interested in doing anything in particular with the arm than he was in Sans’s absolute obedience.

Onion looked Sans over, then drew something out of the water and held it up in front of Sans’s face. It was a soda bottle.

“Drink.”

A tentacle unscrewed the cap and offered the lip of the bottle to Sans’s mouth, tipping it toward him.

Was it drugged? Probably. Could he refuse? No. He opened his mouth hesitantly to drink the liquid. Onion lifted the bottle as Sans drank, encouraging him to drink all of it. Sans did so, cringing at the taste of it.

When he was done, Onion tucked the empty bottle away in a corner. He took out a pastry.

“Are you hungry? You didn’t eat last night.”

“No,” Sans replied, looking down at his rib cage. The soda left him feeling strange, and he didn’t really want anything else until it settled down.

Onion put the pastry down, then stroked Sans’s back.

“All right. Tell me when you’re hungry.”

A few tentacles swirled over Sans’s shoulder blades and rubbed down his spine.

“You’re doing fine. We’re going to go slow and easy.”

Sans shivered, stopping himself from pulling away from the touch entirely. He tried to relax. Nothing terrible had happened yet today. There was no stopping what was going to happen. He needed to save his strength. Just get through it.

A tentacle pet his sternum, but over his shirt this time. More tentacles were moving over him to work tension out of his bones, nothing touching his pelvis yet. Onion slowly eased Sans into a reclining position.

“Did you know Ketchup from before?”

“Before?” Sans asked, startled by the question. He looked up at Onion.

“Before you were in captivity together.”

“In...um, n-no,” Sans fidgeted. He did not want to talk about this with anyone, let alone Onion.

A tentacle dipped behind the collar of Sans’s shirt, rubbing in circles there.

“Would it be very bad for him, if the two of you were to have sex? Would he be afraid?”

“What?” Sans recoiled. So the native Sans had been right. They did want to use them...together. “Of course. That would be...,” His mind rejected several words he could end the sentence with that probably would make Onion unhappy. In the end, he just let it hang there, unfinished.

Onion considered him. Tentacles were squeezing gently down Sans’s upper arms.

“Hm. Then I’m going to talk to Muffet. There’s no reason to force you three together, after everything.”

That surprised Sans. He hadn’t expected that they would abandon that plan so easily, or that Onion would care. He had made a few other comments...It was almost like he cared about Ketchup. Then again, training up monsters for this seemed to take a while. He was probably just looking to protect his invested time. Sans would take what he could get, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Mustard, are _you_ afraid?”

His customary denial stuck in his throat. He was: of Onion, of this place, and of what they were going to do to Ketchup. Telling Onion that seemed like a bad idea, but it would probably be pretty obvious he was lying. He let out one short laugh, covering his face with his hands. He was scared of lying about being scared. He was a fucking joke.

“Yeah...,”

The tentacles slipped under Sans’s shirt, continuing to soothe over his spine.

“Okay. All right. You and Ketchup were both hurt. You were scared and didn’t know how to deal with it...” Onion looked up in a corner, at nothing in particular. “Ha. It’s almost nostalgic.” He looked back at Sans, a tentacle massaging at the back of his neck. “I was a little harsh with you. I’m sorry.”

Sans looked up at him, confused by the change in tone. A little harsh? How had they gone from rape and talk of killing him to this? There wasn’t really an appropriate response to Onion’s words in him, so all he could do was stare.

Onion didn’t seem angered by his lack of response, at least. The massaging touches rolled over Sans’s bones, increasing in strength. Sans relaxed. The relief of everything he had just heard and Onion’s ministrations making it almost involuntary. Remember, he told himself, even as his shoulders slumped. His soul gave a twinge of discomfort.

Onion pet over Sans's ribs, then rolled his shirt back a bit with a few tentacles, sucking on the bones with small waves of the limbs under his clothes.

"Mmmm," Sans hummed, flushing at the noise. He tensed slightly, before forcing himself to relax again.  The gentle pressure felt nice. Sans did his best to focus on that and not the tightness in his soul.

Without removing the others, Onion slipped another tentacle under Sans's sternum, sticking to it and rubbing in circles like he was pleasuring a clit.

Sans let out a shaky breath. That felt even better. He subconsciously resisted his magic when it started to form but had to quell that reaction as well. He was going to let this happen. The thought was downright nauseating. Eventually, his magic was able to gather into a pussy, leaving Mustard shaking and ashamed.

"That's it. There we go. That's very good."

Tentacles rolled smoothly over Sans's shoulders. Onion hadn't even removed Sans's pants yet for some reason. He just continued to soothe Sans's body, like he was preparing him for sleep.

"Have you ever had human food before, Mustard?"

"Hm?" Sans pulled himself out of the relaxing haze he found his mind in. "Human food? No....why?"

"Well, you probably noticed it feels different. Your magic can't absorb it like monster food, so eventually you'll need to release it."

"I'll need to...the soda?" Sans sat up fully, the strange feeling suddenly becoming a whole lot clearer. "You mean I'm gonna...?" He looked around the cavern.

"Right." The tentacles followed Sans as he sat up, still stroking gently. "I want you to hold it until I tell you, so tell me when you need to go."

Sans couldn't help the horrified expression that came over his face. His breathing sped up. Just the thought of having to hold it made the uncomfortable feeling intensify.

"I've never...I don't know..." He looked up at Onion, confused.

“Just squeeze, like you’re holding back pressure. It’s intuitive enough.”

“Right...,” Sans wasn’t sure that he was going to be able to do that, but he would have to, no matter how it felt. Looking down at his magic, he worried that he might be facing another punishment, no matter how hard he tried.

A tentacle wrapped around Sans’s pelvis and squeezed briefly, not enough to hurt, only enough to exacerbate the growing urgent feeling.

“How bad does it feel now?”

“Shit!” Sans only barely stopped himself from pushing the tentacle away. “It—It makes it worse.”

Onion put a tentacle over his own mouth and giggled. A tentacle kissed Sans’s sternum and made a wet pop. Sans shivered at the spurt of pleasure.

“Just remember to tell me.”

“Right,” Sans nodded, the uncomfortable feeling currently mild, but growing. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be long.

Onion tipped Sans back slightly, tentacles snaking over his limbs. One pushed between his legs to rub at the crotch of his pants, starting up a steady rhythm of friction against the lips of his pussy.

“Ngh,” Sans wriggled, suddenly aroused again. It was getting really hard to think about anything other than the two warring sensations building in his magic. The swelling pleasure made him feel like he was going to lose control.

“I might...I think I...”

The tentacle gave one last push between Sans’s legs, then drew away. Onion held Sans upright.

“Okay. Go ahead.”

“H-here, like this?” Sans sputtered, his magic automatically clenching in an effort to hold it back. “Can’t I...use a corner or something?”

“Just like this. Just relax.”

He squirmed, still feeling too weird about it to comply. Onion’s stare wasn’t helping any. The pressure built, Sans whining as a little leaked out.

Tentacles went back to massaging Sans’s shoulders.

“Go on. Let it happen.”

“Fuck,” Sans cried out, clenching his legs together as a last ditch, and pointless, attempt to stop the liquid. His pants soaked it up, a warm wetness spreading from the crotch and down the legs. The fabric stuck to his bones uncomfortably. Sans felt a humiliated flush come over his face.

Onion pet Sans’s back, tugging Sans’s chin to look at him. Sans kept his eyelights pointed down, unable to look the other monster in the eyes.

“Look at me, Mustard. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You did fine.”

“Why?” Sans asked, still not looking at Onion.

“Why what, Mustard.”

“Why did you make me do that?” He wanted to take the pants off. They felt even worse as the wet spot cooled. Would Onion get mad?

“Look me in the eye, and I’ll tell you.”

Sans looked up with a frown. The giant eyes didn’t seem like they’d looked away from him for a moment.

“You have to get used to this. Doing as you’re told, even if it’s not what you feel like doing.” Onion grinned. “And this one’s a pretty easy one. Should feel pretty good, too. How do you feel?”

“Good...? Um, sure.” Sans replied, trying to still his fidgeting. It felt disgusting, but Onion seemed to think otherwise.

Onion snorted.

“You’re going to have to take ‘um, sure’ out of your vocabulary when you’re working.”

Sans sagged. Going along with this ‘training’ was going to be harder than he thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: kidnapping, drugging, restraints, noncon/rape, sex training, wetting/watersports
> 
> Alternate titles: Misunderstandings, the Fic; God Personally Fucks with Mustard, the Fic; Does Onion Actually Care About Them, Part (?)
> 
> Uggy ([AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/idontevenknowugh/pseuds/idontevenknowugh)|[Tumblr](http://idontevenknowwhattoputhereugh.tumblr.com/))  
> McLeech ([AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Germindis/pseuds/Germindis)|[Tumblr](https://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/))


	8. In curls of smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for the chapter: [Black Mambo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=49M1O2YgDfE).
> 
> Hi welcome to sex in the dark, the darkest sex. Is that a good or bad idea for Ketchup's first client? I guess we'll see!
> 
> See the end note for chapter warnings.

Sans needed a moment to remember where he was when he woke. It was strange having a normal room, furniture, even a real bed. Once upon a time he would have basked in it, drowsing happily until Papy—

He woke with a deep-rooted sense of anxiety. It would be nice if that faded, now that he was out of that place.

For now, he got up, stretching his spine to the tune of several loud cracks. His bones still weren’t used to the soft surfaces. He walked over to the dresser to pick out some clothes.

A quick knock sounded on his door.

“Ah!” Sans dropped the shirt he’d just picked up. Turning to look at the door, he took a moment to comprehend that no one was coming in. They’d knocked.... Sans bent to pick up the shirt, trembling with the realization that this was his room, and monsters knocked instead of just coming in and down—no, not the lab. This was not that lab.

“O-one...um...hold on...” he called, feeling awkward. He rushed to put on the rest of his clothes and ran over to open up the door.

The native Sans, or RC, Sans had heard him called, was waiting on the other side, looking impatient and a little bedraggled. He had the composure of someone who’d slept on a rock.

“Come on, Muffet wants me to show you the place. Lots of fun ahead.”

RC's manner had changed completely since last night. He’d been patient with Sans before, even seemed kind, but now he already looked like he felt done with him, and the day had only just started.

“Oh, um...” Sans wasn’t sure he wanted to go on a tour with him in a bad mood, but he also didn’t know how to turn him down. He probably shouldn’t even try, if Muffet asked him to. “Okay...” He stepped out into the hall and shut the door.

“Alright, come on already.” RC barely waited before stalking down the hall. Sans scurried to follow him, almost tripping in his rush.

As they neared a split in the halls, RC pointed down the side hall.

“Cafeteria’s that way, all the way down the hall through the big double doors. Can’t miss it.” He didn’t stop for Sans to get a chance to take that in, though. They kept going until RC pointed down another hall. “Rec room’s over there. Small door with no label, but if you see monsters playing cards, it’s probably not the broom closet.”

“Um, can I—when are we allowed to use it?” Sans looked down the hall, trying to spot the door in question.

RC gave Sans a look over his shoulder like that was the stupidest question he’d ever heard.

“If you’re not working, then whenever.” Sans looked around the hallway, and all of its branches, with a sense of wonder that was downright embarrassing. It hadn’t occurred to him he would have this much freedom.

They eventually came to a bigger cross halls, a couple of the other hallways turning into stairways. RC pointed down one of the stairs that disappeared around a curve.

“That leads to D Section. We’re in the B complex now. Y’ain’t gonna wanna go to the other complexes; it pisses Muffet off if she can’t find us in our own section.”

Sans nodded, wondering just how big this place was. He didn’t dare ask, and he was perfectly happy to stick to the areas he knew.

They walked for even longer, the hallways curving subtly until they came upon a small door that made RC stop. To Sans, it didn't look so different from other doors they'd passed, but RC must have known it, because he opened it and motioned Sans in with no hesitation.

Inside, they'd entered behind a tall front counter that sat at the far end of a room a little wider than the workers' lounge entrance. It looked like they'd entered some kind of foyer. Without a word, RC picked up a little menu off the counter, pouring over it with apparent purpose. RC mumbled to himself.

"'Taste at your own risk'...hum." He huffed, looking a little disconcerted. Peering at the menu, Sans could see RC's finger underlining a familiar picture—what looked like a white flower, the picture that he now recognized as the pin Mustard had in the lounge. The menu said it was a picture of something called 'fugu.' 

RC's eyes flit up to Sans to stare him directly in the socket, with a look like he was reading deep inside his skull. 

"You said...Onion was nice, yeah? Things went alright?"

"Um... yeah," Sans nodded. Didn't RC already know that? He leaned forward a little, curious what else was on the menu. Was his pin there?

RC turned the menu face down on the counter before Sans could find it. RC wasn't looking at him, however—his eyes seemed to be focused on a dirty, reddish stain on the flooring.

"Nothin' on there workers can order, anyway. Just checking it out...well, better be going..." RC practically mumbled all of it, looking distracted. He got up and headed for the door again without checking to see if Sans was following.

Sans looked back at the menu and down at the spot. He hadn’t been this curious in a long time. That made it even more tempting to sneak a peek. He glanced at RC’s back, about to leave his sight, and started. If he stayed, he had no idea where they were.

With one more glance at the menu he trailed after RC. He’d look once he knew his way around.

As they made their way down the halls, Sans could smell food again. Had they looped back around to the cafeteria? RC opened a door to reveal the narrow back hall of what appeared to be a kitchen.

“Kitchens, if you need something specific to take to the Lounge. Lounge B’s all the way on the other end of the hall from your room, make a right, then you’re there. The cafeteria’s around the corner from here. All the doors in the hallway your room’s in are other workers’ rooms. And that’s it.”

Sans glanced into the kitchen, though he wasn’t sure he would actually be able to find it from his room at this point. He was pretty sure he had no idea where his room was right now. He didn’t really care about that, though. The whole tour he’d been waiting anxiously to find out one particular thing, but it hadn’t come up.

“W-where do we, uh...work?”

RC waved a hand.

“Changes every night. You get a note every morning with directions to the room you work, unless you’ve got lounge duty. Lounge Nights are usually twice a week, but sometimes you get called in for special ones on off-days.”

“Okay...that isn’t too bad...” Sans mused, trying to distract himself from wondering when his first job would be.

RC snorted, turning to face Sans.

“That’s it for the tour, but I got somethin’ to say to you.” He held up a finger. “Don’t go near Scratch. Don’t go near the dogs. Don’t wait the crocodile’s table every Lounge Night, cause he’s Cecil’s regular. And do everything I fucking say exactly when I say it, without fucking around like an idiot or asking me why. Got it?”

“Y-yes...” Sans flushed and looked down at the ground. He fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt, trying not to tear up. He was trying to help Sans out, and obviously knew more about this place than he did. There was just something about the way he said it that made Sans feel like he was in trouble.

RC took a step backwards.

“Aw jeez, don’t make that face. Just suck it up and don’t let anyone see you like that.” He leaned forward again. “And as far as Scratch and the dogs know, you don’t even exist. They show up, you disappear, understand?”

“I,” Sans started to ask, but remembered that he wasn't supposed to ask why. Instead he nodded. He did wonder why he couldn't see the dogs. They were as close to friends as he’d had back...Were they not, here? Oh god, were they...clients?

“Good,” RC said shortly, then turned and started walking away. “Your breakfast is in the cafeteria in an hour. Don’t go in when I’m in.”

“Okay...” Sans watched him walk away with a sense of confusion. As soon as he was out of sight, Sans realized he still wasn't sure how to get back to his room. It had been close to the cafeteria, right? Maybe he could even catch sight of RC and trail behind him.

Hesitantly, Sans did just that, but didn't actually see him again. After wandering for what felt like three times as long as the tour had taken, he found a familiar intersection. He hoped. The rec room was just down here. Right? Someone there could help him.

Sans hoped so. With Mustard gone, he was starting to feel like he was all alone.

 

***

 

Muffet showed up at Sans’s door just as the night was getting on. She knocked, but, unlike the native Sans, didn’t wait for Sans to answer. She merely let herself in.

“Good evening dearie. How was your first day?”

“Um, f-fine...”

Muffet tapped up to him and straightened his lapel.

“Well, you’re looking just adorable. Hm, yes, I think we’ll leave you in this one for tonight.”

Sans shrunk into himself. Muffet didn't exactly scare him. She just made him...uncomfortable. Always...touching him.

“Tonight?” He asked, her actual words making it through suddenly.

“Ohh, honey...” More of Muffet’s hands went to Sans’s face, cupping it and lifting it to look at her. “You’re nervous. It’s perfectly all right. I’ve picked out a client just right for you to start, so you just relax and be good.”

“Oh,” Sans squeaked, eyelights shrinking. It was happening. He really wanted to pull his skull away. He needed to panic about the client.

“All right, now be a dear and come along.” Muffet let go, leading the way out the door.

Sans followed, absently trailing after her. His mind was filled to the brim with questions and worries. What was the client going to be like? Would they be nice? What would they want him to do?

Muffet led him the rest of the way without saying another word, but she hummed to herself. Sans was suddenly reminded of Onion. He relaxed a little. Onion and Muffet had the same goal. He trusted Onion, and he should trust Muffet, too. By the time they got to the door, he was a little closer to her.

Muffet stopped and opened it for him, holding onto it.

“There you are. I’ll be right here for you when you’re done.” She pet his head. “You’ll be fine.”

“I just...? Alone?” Sans leaned away from the doorway, like it was going to swallow him up. He knew this was coming. He could do it with Onion... but this was a stranger.

Muffet giggled.

“They didn’t come to see _me_ , dearie. It’s all right.” She waved two right hands at the doorway, gesturing Sans in. “They won’t hurt you.”

Sans inched forward, trembling. He felt just like he was answering the demon's summons. It wasn't that he didn't trust Muffet, but there was so much more to fear than pain. He could be asked to do something awful. He could fail and disappoint Onion.

The room was dim, and the first impression Sans had as he entered was a stronger, more vivid image of Onion in his mind. It took him a moment to pin down that it was the smell that triggered it. A slightly salty, damp smell of sea life confined to Underground lakes; a mineral smell that evoked a picture of a pitch black cavern and slippery appendages.

The furniture had all been pushed to the walls, a mark on one wall, like a shadow of absence, suggesting a bed had been removed altogether. In the middle of the room sat a large clam shell, shut tight and immobile. It was as long across as about two and a half of Sans, with nearly the same depth. There was a shimmery puddle of water soaking into the carpet just under it, along with a dripped trail from the opposite door, presumably continuing on behind it. Whether the shell had been carried in here, or had its own mode of locomotion, wasn't readily apparent.

The door behind Sans shut with a click of its lock.

Sans managed to make himself take one more shaking step forward before his body froze. What in the world was he supposed to do with that. The possibilities that flashed through his mind were terrifying.

"Hello?" He asked, voice a bare whisper. He wasn't sure he wanted it to notice him.

The shell peeked open a few inches, the hint of something gooey and organic inside. A soft, high voice like the pop of bath bubbles came out.

"Come here."

"Um," Sans hesitated, but the order wasn't vague. He shuffled forward slowly, extinguishing his eyelights so he would stop looking at the awful opening. Like that, he could almost imagine it _was_ Onion.

He heard a creak, like it was gaping wider. The voice continued, gentle.

"There's no need to be afraid. I won't hurt you."

"I—I know..." Sans sniffled. "I'm sorry...this is my first...I shouldn't have said that. Sorry."

He jumped and came to a stop when his shin bumped into the hard edge of the shell.

"It's okay. It's cute..." A limb, or something squishy, touched Sans's leg. "Take it easy. Come in."

Sans could feel the waft of air as the shell opened wider, like it was sighing on him.

"In?" Sans made his eyelights return.

"Mmhm."

The shell was open enough now that Sans would be able to crawl inside, but it was dark, and he still wasn't able to discern the shape or nature of the monster within. The appendage reaching out to touch Sans's leg was his only clue. It was a deep pink at the part disappearing into the shell, gradating into a pearlescent ivory at the tip of the limb, which ended in delicate little grasping digits. If it weren't for the circumstances of their meeting, Sans might have thought it was kind of beautiful.

Whole body shaking, Sans crouched down and ducked into the shell. He set his hand on the—limb?—to steady himself.

Another grasping limb helped guide him in as he got further inside, taking one of his hands and gently intertwining its fingers with his. Once he was in, the shell closed behind him, snapping him into absolute darkness.

He felt the light push of a third hand on his chest, encouraging him back on the cushy surface underneath.

"There, that's good. Just lie back."

Sans went ahead and did so, doing his best to only silently panic. Little whimpers slipped out as he stared into nothing. It wasn't like he had anywhere he could go. He was trapped.

"Please," he gasped. "Please..."

Two of the hands brushed down Sans's arm with just the tips of their fingers.

"Yes?"

Sans's mouth hung open. The demon had never actually fielded his pleas before. That's something Onion would do. That's right. This monster was like Onion. They were gentle, and they would listen. It was just some darkness. He could handle that. He could do this for him.

"Nothing."

A second hand joined the one on his chest while the others continued to dance down his arms. Fingers smoothed the crease of his lapel.

"That's right, nothing to be scared of. We're going to fuck, okay?"

Sans squeaked and a blue glow just barely illuminated his surroundings. He really wished they hadn't said it so plainly. He knew. Of course he knew. It was just.... He hid his face in his hands.

There was a tinkling giggly noise that made the cushion under Sans wave like a water bed. Fingers deftly undid Sans's coat jacket, then the buttons of his shirt, and a hand reached into his rib cage to slide one digit under his sternum.

"Oh!" Sans jumped. That felt good. It felt a lot like Onion. He kept his face covered, indulging in the illusion.

The hand settled all its fingers along Sans's sternum, starting to stroke up and down. There was a bumpy texture to the hand, like it was wearing a glove of smooth beads. It made the touch feel even more like a massage. Sans hummed with appreciation. The touch was easing him quickly, his body relaxing on the soft surface. His hands slowly slid away from his face and down to his sides.

Another beady hand unbuttoned Sans's pants and dipped inside, playing over the bones of his pelvis.

Sans grimaced and held back a terrified whimper by panting. That didn't feel right. They were going too fast. He tensed, clutching at the soft material under him.

"Ow!"

The cushion bounced up, jostling Sans's grip. All of the stroking stopped at once.

"That hurt," the client complained in an almost petulant voice.

"Oh, sorr—oh! I'm so sorry! Please don't... be mad..." Sans shook as he realized that he was laying on part of the client. He couldn't settle on which was more upsetting, that or the possibility that he had angered them.

"No, no," the voice came from somewhere near Sans's groin now, like the monster was looking over him there. Sans didn't have his eyes adjusted to see even an outline—everything was still black as pitch. "Did I rub too hard?"

"N-no..." Sans shook his skull. "Surprised me..."

"Ah." A chuckle came from closer to Sans's chest. "Please be gentle with me."

The hand in Sans's rib cage went back to playing with his sternum, but the ones at his pelvis moved to pet Sans's legs.

"Yeah," Sans sighed, relieved. He hadn't messed up too badly yet.

More hands joined the others, slowly stroking Sans's bones, some just tickling over them in feathery touches.

"Are you comfortable?"

Sans took stock. He was cushioned by...something. It was dark and warm in a way that would typically make him drowsy. The monster's touches felt good. There was no reason for him to be uncomfortable, so he nodded.

"Good. Good."

Sans felt the monster, or some part of it that wasn't the cushion underneath, lower over him so that some beady skin was dimly lit by the glow of Sans's blush.

"Will you touch me?"

"Um, s-sure..." Sans lifted his arm, running his fingers along the textured surface. It felt strange, his bones bouncing over the bumps gently.

Fingers brushed over Sans's face, one touching his teeth like a gesture to quiet him. There was something on the tip of it that smelled pleasantly sweet. Vanilla, or some kind of cream.

"Taste this."

Confused, Sans obeyed, his tongue slipping out of his mouth and adding to the blue glow.

It tasted like a pudding. The client dipped their finger in Sans's mouth, sliding against his tongue. When he'd cleaned the finger, they drew it out, slowly, letting the light from his tongue illuminate a strand of saliva connecting them.

The rest of their hands felt like they were enveloping him, stroking over all his bones but conspicuously leaving his groin alone. The fingers on his sternum began to pet more firmly, squeezing on the bone as they reached the end of it.

Sans wasn't really sure what was going on, but the longer the client touched him, the more he got used to it. His whole body was warming up, the pressure starting to feel good. He was especially enjoying the touches to his sternum, and his magic was gathering around his pelvis in response.

The monster's body lowered over him enough that it began to press into him from above, and he started to feel the shape more clearly. It felt like a thin hourglass, curves aligning with Sans's body in an appealing inversion of his own shape. It was light on top of him, with an impression more like a stray palm frond falling over him than a living creature. The main hint of life came from the many tapered little fingers continuing to pleasure Sans's bones.

"Oh," Sans sighed, his bones tingling where the monster touched. He rubbed his hand along the part of them under him, stroking it absently.

The monster giggled, taking Sans's hands and gently moving them to what felt like its sides. It had the same beady texture as the monster's hands, like pebbles in a river bed. The monster started rubbing a part of itself, maybe hips or a leg, between Sans's legs against his gathered magic, its whole body rocking over him in a way that stirred irresistible heat and wetness at his groin.

Sans's body arched up, mindlessly looking for more pressure. It would only take a little more. He felt shame for the wanton way he was acting, but it was muted under a hot, physical neediness.

Holding onto the monster more gently, Sans used them to press up more firmly with his pelvis.

The client kept giggling. They drew away from Sans's pelvis, and then he felt fingers hooking into the waist of his pants, tugging them down. When he was exposed, something wriggled against his leg, then up to his magic. It was firm, tapered like the monster's fingers, but flexible like a tentacle. And each time the monster's body rocked over Sans, the thing slid along the center of the lips of Sans's magic. A rounded tip teased Sans around the nub of sensitive magic that stuck out.

"Ah!" Sans really liked how that felt. His magic tightened in anticipation with each pass. His legs spread wider without his input.

The wriggling appendage drew back to stick the tip inside of Sans, and it whirled around stretching the opening of his magic for a moment before sliding slowly all the way in, wet and hard.

Sans tensed, but his magic opened up readily, arousal slicking the way. It didn't hurt, so he tried to relax, taking calming breaths.

The monster began to move in him. They rolled their body over him, member thrusting in and out in a way that made Sans's magic feel like an urgent need was being fulfilled. Their hands were still busy stroking over his body, but one snuck between his legs to play at the sensitive nub while the monster worked in him.

Sans forgot to be scared as pleasure burst out from the spot. He jerked up, meeting the thrusting, and released a needy whimper he hadn't realized was building.

The client started making their own quiet sounds of pleasure over him, continuing to rub him steadily as they thrust.

"Mm, you're so cute...so good..."

The blue glow brightened. Sans wanted to cover his face, but he needed his hands to leverage himself up. He felt so good, and he wanted more.

Hands pet Sans's heated face, thumbs gliding over his cheekbones. The thrusts inside went faster.

"What a cute little monster."

"Ahh—mmm!" Sans couldn't reply with words. He was too consumed by what he was feeling. His body tensed up, and he came, tears leaking down the sides of his skull until they met the monster's hands.

"Mm..." the client hummed, slowing their thrusts. "Did you just come?"

"Yes..." Sans panted, still recovering from doing so.

"Good."

The client pet Sans's femurs affectionately.

"Just a little more..."

They sped up again, gentle thrusts making Sans's release spatter out of him as something vaguely shaped like a head pressed into Sans's neck. He felt harsh breaths and pleasured sighs on his vertebrae while the monster worked towards their own finish.

His magic complained as it was over stimulated. It tightened around the member. He felt himself heating back up again, nonetheless, and he moaned back at them.

It wasn't long before the other monster stilled, giving just a few more jerky thrusts as Sans was squirted into. The flexible member inside him twitched up with each spurt, accentuating the wet sensation.

Sans shivered; it still felt kind of good, on a physical level. He whimpered, feeling something trickle down his pelvis.

"Ahh..."

The monster over him sighed, drawing out and giving one last involuntary spurt on the outside of Sans's magic. The hands kept stroking Sans's face.

"Do you need more, or are you done?"

Sans didn't know what the right answer was. He wasn't done. His magic was clenching, seeking the monster's member. Was he supposed to ask the client to do something like that for him? He whimpered, hips twitching.

Sans felt the client's tinkling laughter against his neck.

"No need to be shy. How's this?"

There were more hands on his pelvis, two petting the crests, one rubbing the swollen lips of his magic, and another slowly grinding three fingers on the nub.

"Ah!" Sans arched up into the monster's touch. "It feels good... It feels really good."

“Yes, there we go...” The client pressed down harder on the nub, in tight little circles of their fingers that ended in quick upward jabs that made Sans’s whole pelvis rock with gratifying sparks of pleasure.

Sans shouted, cries echoing in the confined space. His magic was quickly overwhelmed by the touches. It clenched and trembled as he came again.

The fingers eased off, sliding down over the lips of his magic to massage them as he finished.

“You really are cute.”

“Haa...ahh,” Sans shook his skull, but when he opened his mouth all that came out were gasps and moans. His body trembled from his climax and the continuing stimulation, light as it was.

The hands over him finally stopped their touching, letting go of Sans in places he’d even stopped registering he was being stroked. Something came in contact with his cheek—it felt like a kiss. And then a crack of light came from where the shell parted.

“That was a nice night. Take care.”

“T-thank...you...” Sans fumbled for some kind of reply. He rolled over, careful of the soft flesh under him, and crawled out of the shell.

It was almost painfully bright in the room outside. Once he was all the way out, Sans turned and sat down. His legs felt weak.

One thin, elegant limb peeked out of the shell, shimmering under the red lights of the room, and gave a delicate wave with one finger tucking down at a time. A moment later, Sans heard a click from the door he’d come in through.

Getting shakily to his feet, Sans waved back. He felt awkward, but they had been really nice.

His walk to the door and out of the room was sluggish. Going back to his room and sleeping sounded wonderful.

Muffet was there to meet him with a blanket that she wrapped over his shoulders as he exited.

“Alright, dearie?”

“Um, yes, I think so...” Sans looked up at her. He was still feeling warm, but in a comfortable, satisfied way. The gesture with the blanket was still nice, and he settled it around himself.

Muffet’s spindly fingers stayed on Sans’s shoulders with the blanket.

“How does a hot bath before bed sound?”

“I don't know...” he yawned, “if I could stay awake...sorry...”

“Well, you’re not difficult for me to carry. And...” Muffet looked down at Sans’s legs with a doubtful expression. “I don’t think you’d enjoy waking up to that dried on you.”

“Oh,” Sans looked down at his legs. Right, he had just.... For a moment Sans felt a little sick. She was right, and she wanted him to go. “Okay, thank you...” he hunched into his blanket a little.

Muffet smiled sweetly at him, rubbing his arms as she led him on.

“There now, dear. You did a very good job. I’ll take care of you from here.”

Sans nodded. It was actually pretty nice having someone do that. This was really nothing like that place. He smiled a little as he followed her lead.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: noncon/rape, drugging, previous sexual conditioning and past sexual trauma, RC being a big mean poop
> 
> Thanks again for joining us. Please feel free to message me or Uggy with any concerns or comments. Every day we crawl further from God's light. 
> 
> Uggy ([AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/idontevenknowugh/pseuds/idontevenknowugh)|[Tumblr](http://idontevenknowwhattoputhereugh.tumblr.com/))  
> McLeech ([AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Germindis)|[Tumblr](https://germindis-leechlamp.tumblr.com/))  
> 


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